The Girl With Golden Eyes

From somewhere in the distance, he heard a melodic male voice cry out, heralding the doom of his true love. “HEAR ME, GOOD PEOPLE OF THE DARKLAND! THE PRINCESS IS TO BE HANGED BEFORE FIRST LIGHT FOR CRIMES AGAINST HER COURT, HER HUSBAND, AND HER FATHER, THE KING, HER SENTENCE TO BE CARRIED OUT IMMEDIATELY!”

A cacophony of cheering voices rose up behind the announcement, piercing Stephen to his very soul. The people would have what they wanted. He heard, from directly beside him, a desperate sob, a cry of utter despair. It was choked off quickly, and he felt the hand clutching his own tighten.

“My love, I am sorry, I have been weak and selfish. My only atonement is that I have convinced them to spare you. You shall live your life, your soul shall move on. I can only ask that you find it in your heart not to forget me.”

Stephen wanted to open his eyes, to brush away the shadows and the fog, to hold her. But he could only manage to force one word from his dry, aching throat.

“Never.”

He could feel her smile, her light, her spirit bathing him. And then, from across the room, a door bursting open.

“Your time has come,Princess,” a rough, gravelly voice spoke, and he felt her leave him.

“Goodbye, my love.”

And the door slammed shut.

There was a haze, the nausea, the queasiness, the despair overtaking him. He had no concept of how much time had passed before the screaming began.

“CASSANDRA!” he called out, his cries falling upon deaf ears.

More screaming. She was being tortured. She was being cut. His beauty was being mutilated, along with his spirit. Screaming. And more screaming, and more, until, following a wet gurgle, it was muffled into silence.

Time passed as the screaming, mercifully, stopped, and Stephen hoped it was over. He hoped that her misery had ended, her pain. His eyes opened, still staring into darkness, though it was now the darkness of night. He felt strong enough to sit forward, listening for anything else, any sign of his love.

He was in a musty stone chamber, laying on a bed of moldy hay. A single window faced him, and from below it came the glow of torchlight. He made to stand up, but the giant oak door on the far wall swung open, and a figure of dread entered the room, carrying in his hands a covered silver platter.

Kirsahn turned and closed the door, then turned back to face the man who bared his own face.

“Earth-dweller...ah,Stephen, she called you, I believe,” the name rolled off Kirsahn’s tongue like an awkward curse. “Stephen, her love, her true love. Well, my brother, I thought perhaps, tonight, dinner and a show might be in order. It is, after all, the pleasure of this court to treat its guests with kindness, if nothing at all.”

Kirsahn strode across the room, towering over him. The man’s red eyes seemed to glow brighter than ever, and Stephen only wished he had the strength to dig them out of the man’s skull, to tear his face to shreds so that it might no longer reflect his own. Kirsahn bent down and placed the platter at Stephen’s side, but did not remove the cover. Stephen could feel his entire body tremble as he gazed at the polished silver before him. If this demon was true to his word...

“I’m not hungry,” Stephen said quickly, his voice wavering uncontrollably.

Kirsahn threw off his cloak and removed the scabbard containing the massive sword from his side, which he carefully leaned against the wall. He squatted down beside Stephen, so close that Stephen could smell his foul, rotten breath.

“I should explain myself to you, my friend,” Kirsahn said, his voice a low grumble, “I know that your dear princess has spoken ill of me. But, in my defense, I am not a bad man. You see, I bring you dinner, I treat you with courtesy. Yes, it would have been nice to serve your steaming entrails on this platter, however, I saw fit to honor the Princess’s final wishes, and spare your wretched life.”

A low murmur of voices slowly rose from below the window, and Stephen turned his head to listen. Kirsahn, as well, perked up, his head tilting.

“The show begins, my brother. But we still have time to talk, to have a bite, to enjoy each other’s company.”

“I’d rather enjoy the company of a fucking rabid weasel, you ugly piece of shit.” Stephen’s voice felt stronger, and he was glad to finally be able to give this thing a piece of his mind.

Kirsahn only smiled pleasantly, then with amazing quickness, reached out and grabbed a handful of Stephen’s hair, yanking his head back, nearly snapping his neck. He snarled through his spiny teeth.

“It is only through the grace of my king that you were spared, you worthless bastard. I should so very much have enjoyed cutting into you, just as I cut into your filthy bitch.” Kirsahn’s grip eased off Stephen’s hair, instead moving to gently stroke his head. “But you, according to my king, are too important. No, we shall keep you alive, only until you have served our purposes. Then, and only then, shall you be turned over to me.”

He smiled his awful smile again. “And then the fun begins.”

He dropped his hand from Stephen’s head and fixed him with an almost casual gaze. “Until then, eat, my friend, and be merry.” Kirsahn removed the cover of the silver platter and stood, turning to face the window.

Stephen felt his entire body tremble, his eyes widen, and the entire world felt as if it were going to drop away from beneath him. He had, in his life, heard stories of Hell, stories of fire and brimstone, stories of infinite torture. And yet, at that moment, he would have traded his place for an eternity of Hell. At that moment he felt, perhaps, he already had.

It could have all been uncooked meat, doused in its own juices. Flesh from flesh, it made little difference. It smelled fresh, bloody. Stephen gagged, and gagged, and gagged again until he thought he might spit out his own insides.

Atop it all, a pink tongue, ripped from its mouth, and two golden orbs, torn from their sockets.

Somewhere, far off in some other world, the roar of voices rose to a fever pitch, and Stephen heard Kirsahn’s boots shuffle against stone.

“The show begins, my brother. Join me by the window, I don’t wish for you to miss a single moment of this.”

Kirsahn grabbed Stephen by the back of his neck, and Stephen was almost relieved to be pulled from the bloody pile before him. He was thrown bodily against the stone wall, then his head shoved out the window.

His eyes darted around, taking in the inner court of the castle It was packed, wall to wall, with people. Stephen thought they looked like specters in the night, added to this, their eyes were all various colors, void of pupils, as Cassandra’s had been, as Kirsahn’s were.

Cassandra’s...

The people cheered as a cart was rolled into the court, surrounded by guards wielding massive battle axes. Standing on the cart, bound at the wrists, was Cassandra. Stephen could see only two dark, empty cavities where her eyes had once been, blood streaming from them. From her waist down, the entire front of her silky dress was bathed in blood as well, and it stuck to the contours of her body. She looked as if she could barely stand, she trembled violently, yet she refused to fall down. Stephen all at once was horrified by her appearance and awed by her strength.

The cart was rolled through the courtyard, and the crowd parted to allow it. Their faces were masked in bloodlust, and Stephen knew that he could no longer stop what was about to happen.

His hands clutched the edge of the stone window, his nails practically digging into rock, blood pouring from his fingertips. They wheeled Cassandra into the center of the courtyard, where a large wooden gallows had been erected. Stephen turned desperately to the man standing behind him.

“The king will never allow his daughter to be killed,” Stephen said weakly, but Kirsahn only laughed gleefully.

“The King? What do you know of the King? This was thing King’s idea! The King of Death, The King of the Darkland, would gladly see his own daughter die before seeing his world threatened by the bastard child of an earth-dweller!”

Stephen shook his head, his mind barely comprehending what he was being told. His wide eyes glanced back at the silver platter, which was thankfully hidden by the darkness. But Kirsahn caught his gaze, and smiled.

“Oh yes, my brother, do not be so simple as to think there was not a purpose to your union. The Princess is beautiful, but she is quite deceitful when she wants to be. At least we do not have to worry aboutthat anymore.”

Kirsahn forced Stephen’s gaze back to the courtyard. Cassandra was being helped up the stairs of the platform by two guards, her legs barely moving. For a moment, Stephen hoped she was dead already, but the hope was dashed when they released her and she stood on her own. They slipped the noose around her neck, then climbed back down the stairs, leaving her alone.

The herald began speaking again, his voice ringing out through the courtyard. “CASSANDRA, PRINCESS, DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF THE DARKLAND AND ALL OF ITS SURROUNDING PROVINCES, YOU ARE HEARBY SENTENCED TO DIE ON THIS MOST SACRED NIGHT, BEFORE THE EYES OF THE GODS AND ALL IN THIS COURT!”

“Of course,” Kirsahn began in a low rumble beside him, “the Princess is quite light—and quite a bit lighter now, of course. It is unlikely that the fall will break her neck and fate will hand her a merciful death. No, she shall no doubt hang and swing and twist and struggle, until the life is slowly and agonizingly choked from her body.”

Stephen saw the hooded executioner standing by for the signal. He was gazing up at the dark tower on the opposite side of the castle walls. When Stephen’s gaze lifted, he could see nothing in the tower, only a black hole of darkness.

“He awaits the signal from the King,” Kirsahn whispered. “Oh, it is so quiet, listen. Not a one of them dare to breathe. Perhaps, Stephen, now is your time. Perhaps now is the time for you to save your true love. You could jump from this window and dash madly across the courtyard, through the sea of people.”

Stephen’s heart was thundering, his breath quickening. There had to be something he could do, anything. He couldn’t stand Kirsahn’s taunting, the helplessness. His eyes darted back down to the executioner, who waited in silence.

Something, anything.Cassandra, my love.

He looked up at her. She stood, too, in silence. But then, for just a moment, her head turned, and though Stephen knew she could no longer see, she turned her head up to him.

“Cassandra,” he whispered, “I love you.”

There was, from the darkness above, an almost imperceptible movement. Stephen saw the executioner’s arms pull back on the lever that would drop Cassandra to her death. He heard the crowd gasp, and he turned away at the very split second a sickening snap cut through the night air.

“Oh,” Kirsahn said with mild surprise, “I suppose I could have been wrong.”

The court erupted in a deafening roar, and Stephen glanced out the window just in time to see the multitudes converge at the center of the court, where Cassandra’s lifeless body swung from the gallows. As total hopelessness coursed through him, Stephen covered his mouth with his hands, backing slowly away from the window.

She was gone.

Kirsahn watched him with satisfaction, even stepped out of the way as Stephen backed across the room.

“It figures,” Kirsahn said, “that her little neck would be too weak to hold up. And now she’s gone and ruined all the fun.”

Stephen felt his back hit the wall, and a solid metal object dug into his leg. His hand dropped absently to the object at his side, the sword which Kirsahn had leaned against the wall. Kirsahn’s red eyes dropped to Stephen’s hand, and he shook his head.

“My brother, you couldn’t possibly—“

He stopped mid-sentence as Stephen grasped the hilt of the sword and hefted it with all his might. The scabbard slipped away with a metallic screech and shot across the room. Kirsahn sidestepped the hurling object, offering Stephen enough time to dash across the room and give one mighty swing. The sword was incredibly heavy, and the blow struck low, the blade buried deep into Kirsahn’s unprotected calf. The sound of crunching bone, accompanied by Kirsahn’s howl of pain, was music to Stephen’s ears, but he took little time to enjoy it.

He was back across the room seemingly in seconds, throwing open the massive oak door. He dashed blindly out into the corridor, then to the stairs winding downward. In his haste, he almost tripped, threatening to throw himself headfirst down the stairs. But he recovered, and pumped his legs as fast as they would go, away from Kirsahn’s screams of agony and fury.

The stairs seemed to wind into infinity, but Stephen paid little attention, simply kept running. He hit the bottom and burst through another door, which, to his horror, opened straight out into the courtyard. He stopped, realizing that, so far, no one had noticed him.

“GUARDS!” came a hoarse raor from high above him, and Stephen knew he stood little chance. A guard clad in black armor on the fringe of the crowd turned to him, red eyes glowing from his skull. He smiled and drew his sword. Stephen readied himself as the guard approached, but the guard, like Kirsahn, was nearly twice his size, and Stephen, a weak, soft earth-dweller, would be no match against a warrior.

The guard came toward him steadily, but just as he was about to reach Stephen and hack him to pieces, the sound of galloping horse hooves interrupted him. The rider bared down on the guard, practically trampling him, but within seconds, the was a silver glint in the night, the swish of steel through air, and the guard’s head separated from his body, rolling several feet across the dirt courtyard.

Stephen barely had time to watch the guard’s body drop before the dark rider atop the horse rode down on him. The sensation of flight overtook him as he was hoisted into the air and dropped onto the hard flank of the horse.

“Hold on tight, god damn it!” a strong voice commanded from beneath the rider’s hood, a voice Stephen recognized barely.

His thoughts were interrupted as the rider spurred on his horse, the great beast galloping across the courtyard and out the gates of the inner walls of the castle. They rode on through the filthy town beyond, through dark streets, away from the cries of fury that followed them.

The wind struck Stephen, stung his face, brought tears to his eyes, but he never felt more relieved in his life. He glanced back once, and saw the twinkle of torches far behind them. He turned back, and clinging to the rider for dear life, saw the giant iron gate before them being lowered, the drawbridge beyond it being raised.

“Oh, Jesus,” Stephen uttered, and felt his own legs squeezing around the horse as they raced on, quickly approaching the exit.

In moments, the animal’s hooves beat loudly across solid wood. The drawbridge had been raised about a quarter of the way, and was still rising, but the horse effortlessly soared across the chasm and came down on solid land on the other side. With nothing but open land in front of them, and the massive gate closing, having to be raised again to let the guards out, the rider slowed his horse just a little.

“Who the hell are you?” Stephen called out over the sound of the wind whipping past his ears.

“Now’s not the time, Stephen,” the rider answered, and just as Stephen recognized his voice, the rider threw back his hood, revealing the dark-skinned warrior beneath.

“Reggie,” Stephen said in utter disbelief, “what thefuck are you doing here?”

“I told you, Steve, now’s not the time, just shut up!”

They rode on through the fields surrounding the castle. As Stephen glanced back, he saw that the drawbridge was being lowered back down over the moat, and he knew they had little time. Reggie spurred the horse on, and they quickly approached the edge of the forest where Stephen had first awoken.

The horse began to whinny beneath them, then stopped suddenly, throwing its head into the air and nearly tossing them off its broad back.

“Come on, we run from here,” Reggie said, jumping down off the horse.

Stephen followed him, and they took off at a run towards the forest. Stephen glanced back and saw the castle guards quickly approaching. If they caught up, the two men would be slaughtered.

“Come on, Steve, god damn it, we have tomove!”

They sprinted full out until they were finally at the edge of the forest. Once there, Reggie stopped and frantically dug through his cloak.

“Where the fuck is it?” he whispered to himself breathlessly. After a moment, he pulled something out of an inner pocket and held it in the palm of his hand for Stephen could see. It was a blue crystal, just like the one he had been compelled to take off the table in Cassandra’s house.

“Steve, listen carefully, youhad to have one of these. Where is it?”

For a moment, Stephen’s heart dropped into his feet. Then he remembered. He jammed his hand into the pocket of his jeans, felt the cool crystal there, and pulled it out to show Reggie. Reggie, in turn, smiled in relief.

“Oh, thank God. Now,” he said, pointing towards the twisted trees, “stand over there.”

“Reggie, what—“

“Just do it,” Reggie said, calmly this time. Stephen had no desire to argue with him, so he moved to a spot just beyond the trees and watched carefully, ready to spring out and help his friend at any moment.

Reggie, however, would need no help. The Castle guards, seven of them by Stephen’s count, approached quickly on their horses, but Reggie only stood watching them, his chin held high, his arms spread out to his sides. As the guards came within yards of him, his head dropped back, his eyes closed, as if he were praying to a higher power.

“No hansa qua’wahna wei!” The words that slipped from Reggie’s mouth were indistinguishable to Stephen, but before he could wonder any further, a flash of blinding light filled his eyes. There was an explosion that seemed to tremble the land, and through the wall of fire that appeared before Reggie, Stephen could see the guards’ horses stop and rear back, several of them throwing their riders to the ground.

Reggie watched them in satisfaction for a moment, the bolted over to Stephen. He glanced back for a moment, then looked at Stephen.

“Holy shit, Reg, that was—“

“You’ll have plenty of time to kiss my ass later, Steve. For now, I need you to hang on to that crystal as tight as you can and walk back into those trees.” Reggie pointed to the trees, and into the darkness beyond.

Stephen started forward, then stopped and turned to his friend. “You’re coming with me, aren’t you, Reggie?”

Reggie looked at Stephen in shock. “Motherfucker, you think I want to stayhere?”

Stephen felt a grim smile spread over his face, then he turned back to the forest. He walked forward, not looking back, not feeling anything, notwanting to feel anything. If he allowed himself, he would never be able to erase the image of Cassandra from his mind, the image of Cassandra’s insides on a silver platter, the image of Cassandra’s body swinging from the gallows...

* * *

There was, for the third time that night, the need to vomit, and he did so, all over the hardwood floor of the dining room in Number Seventy-two. Not far from him, in the same room, he could hear Reggie do the same, and then mumble something like, “...never get used to that shit...”

Stephen breathed heavily for a long moment, blinking his eyes and allowing his head to stop spinning, his heart to slow. And only then did he raise his head.

Daylight was just beginning to break, sending streaks of rising sun through the room, and onto the blank wall in front of him. Stephen rose slowly, ignoring Reggie’s groans of discomfort, and crossing the room, placing his hands against the cool wall. There was movement in it still, Stephen could feel it, but it was fading quickly. He rested his forehead against it, exhausted.