A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 2: Return to the Dark Lord

Arcana suppressed a shudder as she approached the Dark Lord's fortress for the second time in as many days. She could not think of anywhere worse to be except, she amended, on the floor at his feet. The soul hunter frowned at that thought, knowing that was where she would end up soon enough.

During his first reign, Lord Voldemort had located Salazar Slytherin's humble home and had claimed it as his own, by right of blood. This home was a veritable fortress hidden by both mundane and magical means, huddled against the cliff face in a deep and unplottable valley. The valley was narrow, a dark forest spanning nearly its entire length. The carved stone of the Slytherin family's secret retreat blended well into the surrounding rock. In the faint predawn light, it was nearly invisible save for the light of a few torches at the main gate and in several high tower windows.

It was a long walk from the edge of the anti-Apparition wards to the fortress. The only ways around the wards, other than walking, were by portkey or by the Dark Lord's summoning. Woe to those whose portkey was not made by Voldemort himself. Arcana had only witnessed the results of that once. The Dark Lord had ordered some fool Death Eater who had disappointed him to walk around the valley and pick up all the sizeable pieces. It had taken the unlucky Death Eater quite a while to complete his mission. There was far too much singed and mangled flesh for only one person. Despite the quantity of evidence, nothing remained that gave clue to the identities of the would-be attackers.

When it had happened, Arcana remembered watching as a series of emotions passed over the Dark Lord's face beginning with shock, leading to cruel hilarity at the fate of the trespassers, and then ending in furious anger. Even after all these years, she doubted whether the Dark Lord had ever discerned who had taken part in the attempted invasion, or if any of his servants had betrayed him.

The dew on the long grass had dampened the hems of Arcana's black robes and cloak, prompting her to cast a quick drying charm. She trudged slowly out of the dark woods and into the small clearing in front of the Dark Lord's chosen lair. The hunter was very apprehensive about having to once again face the wizard that claimed to be her lord. She had little strength left to fight him and if he chose to push her, she would fall, just as he wished.

They would think it pathetic that she feared a mortal, Arcana thought. She let the magic flow about her and remembered. If the symphony of magic had not shattered her, if the most terrible fae could not break her, then there was no Dark wizard that could ever master her.

No human guards were stationed at the gates. They were not needed. Salazar Slytherin and his descendents had so saturated the place with magic that the fortress was almost alive. It would let you in if you belonged, or deal with you if you did not.

The large ironbound wooden doors opened smoothly for Arcana. Carved serpents slithered and hissed across the wood, watching the hunter with suspicious eyes. Slytherin's castle only served those with the old wizard's blood. All others had to watch their step, especially when out of favor with the castle's master.

Arcana entered the Dark Lord's lair, resisting the urge to glance back at the large, hissing doors. The doors closed with a sigh as she stepped past the threshold, cutting off what little light shone outside. The old fortress was dark and cool, being built entirely out of a hard, black stone. Both small, seemingly hand carved passageways and grand halls could be found in this labyrinth. More mysteries lay hidden here than in the entirety of Knockturn Alley and the Ministry of Magic together. The poorly lit corridors were actually oddly comfortable for Arcana and she sighed as the damp air gently caressed her pale face. Perhaps the place had been designed to resemble a snake's safe burrow. If only she were the snake and not its potential prey.

Anger sparked within Arcana and she hissed quietly in the dark. Never would she be the prey. Never would she submit. Never would she willingly kneel before anyone, let alone some mostly human, mostly mortal, mess of a man.

A few torches lit the long dark corridors, their orange flames casting ever-changing shadows on the stonework. Arcana turned a corner and walked deeper into the fortress. The air temperature had dropped a few more degrees, signaling that she was now within the cliff itself, deep underground. Her Dark Mark tingled slightly and Arcana flexed her left hand, attempting to relieve the odd sensation. Apparently, the Dark Lord was tired of waiting, curious to know what his soul hunter had brought to appease his anger. To her annoyance, the tingling would not go away, though at least it was not getting any worse. Arcana hoped that it was a sign that Lord Voldemort was in a better mood than he had been two nights before.

She turned down the corridor leading to the Dark Lord's preferred meeting room. At the sound of a shoe scuffing against the stone, she stilled, sensing the presence of Peter Pettigrew's scattered mind. The pathetic rat was hiding in the shadows, nervously waiting for his master's call. Arcana paid him no mind and began walking again toward the room where the Dark Lord waited.

"Wait," called Wormtail's pitifully weak voice.

The scuffing sound came again. Maybe the fool had found the courage to step out of the shadows. Arcana imagined him nervously standing behind her, cringing in fear. It was almost worthy of pity.

Without slowing her pace or turning her head, Arcana hissed emotionlessly, "Your master is expecting me, rat. Go back and hide in your shadows." She refused to show the traitor that she also feared the Dark Lord.

From behind, Arcana heard a rather frightened squeak and the scuttling of rat paws on the floor. She had no wish to converse with Wormtail and was glad the rat realized it. Arcana had made a game out of keeping the pathetic creature frightened of her without threatening him directly. So far she had succeeded, though she had to admit it was not much of a challenge.

As she crossed the last few meters to the door, the Dark Mark flared briefly, making Arcana's cheek twitch from the sting. The Dark Lord enjoyed doing that far too much, Arcana thought. It was like tugging on a helpless animal's leash, in her opinion. She wondered what the Dark Lord would do if all his 'animals' tugged back.

The hunter shook her head in attempt to clear her thoughts, and knocked on the dark wood door. With a hiss, the serpent doorknob turned on its own, and Arcana stepped inside.

The room was dark and menacing. The only light came from a crackling fire that cast sinister, shifting shadows on the bare walls. Two wing-backed chairs sat on an old faded rug before the fireplace. A cold bleakness seemed to permeate the place despite the nearly stifling heat from the fire, as if the anguish of those tortured and brutally killed here had seeped into the very stone.

Arcana warily approached the pair of chairs. She fought to bury her nagging fears, but they would not be silenced. If there had been any way to avoid this meeting, she would have found it.

The clacking of Arcana's booted heels echoed off the walls, sounding too loud to her ears, making her feel exposed and naked despite her concealing robes. There was nowhere to hide now. Arcana made a last ditch attempt to reinforce the emotionless mask of her face. The Dark Lord could not see her fear.

The Dark Lord Voldemort sat in his favorite chair, facing the warm fire. He was a grim figure, cloaked in black and silhouetted by the restless flickering flames. His face was as pale as bleached parchment, the skin stretched across serpentine features. A few thin lines creased the corners of his eyes and mouth, betraying his age and bitter hate. The fire highlighted the scaled patterns on his protruding cheekbones and flat nose in an angry reddish gold.

The Dark Lord turned to face Arcana. Even though his expression was cold, his piercing, fury-filled crimson eyes burned through her. Arcana's breath caught in her throat, but she did not slow her pace, refusing to be cowed by a mere glance.

It was all too clear that the Dark Lord's anger had not abated. Icy fear swelled for a moment. She let it flow away like the ebbing tide knowing it would only hinder her. It was far too late to turn back now. The Dark Lord remained silent, but his thin lips quirked faintly in a cruel smile.

Irritation flared in Arcana. She hated that smile and the Dark Lord knew it. Arcana had seen it far too many times, usually as the prelude to very unpleasant things.

She held back a sneer of self-disgust. First the shopkeeper and now the Dark Lord: they should not be able to see through her so easily. She should not be used to that cruel expression and the torture that often followed. Most of all, Arcana cursed herself for the thousandth time, she should never have succumbed to that fiery brand.

The soul hunter abruptly cut off her angry internal dialogue. She could not afford to be blinded by emotion now. Upon reaching the seated Dark Lord, she bowed slightly, raising her head as soon as could be considered respectful.

The Dark Lord regarded Arcana with a severe look, his snake-like nostrils flaring slightly. She stood still, waiting to be addressed, but the wizard remained silent, continuing to observe her. She met his intense stare with blank face and a still mind, watching him carefully from behind her dark glasses.

The Dark Lord's thoughts brushed against her mind, testing her strength, commanding her to kneel. As she always had before, Arcana threw off the Dark Lord's mental suggestion, though it took more effort than she had expected. Refusing to kneel like his Death Eaters had become a symbol of Arcana's defiance, which irked the Dark Lord to no end.

The Dark Lord released Arcana from his intense glare and reached down to gently stroke Nagini, who had slithered up to him from her place by the warm fire.

"So, my wayward hunter returns to me at last," the Dark Lord hissed coldly, turning his eyes back to Arcana. "I was beginning to wonder," he continued quietly in a dangerous tone, "if you would need encouragement once again."

"No, my lord," Arcana replied coldly.

Two full days had not passed since they last met. He had no reason to believe she would not return. Arcana crafted her reply carefully, hoping to appease the Dark Lord.

"I am your bonded hunter, by blood contract and your own Mark," Arcana offered more calmly than she felt. "I need no encouragement to work, as long as I am paid my due."

"Ah," the Dark Lord voiced, unconvinced by Arcana's words. "In that case, hunter, sit," he gestured to the opposite chair, "and we will see if you are still worthy to hunt for me."

Arcana ignored the insult and carefully lowered herself into the large chair, all too conscious of her still-aching body and the irking fact that the Dark Lord would see her pain.

She deftly opened a leather pouch on her belt and removed an old rune-engraved wooden box that would have not fit inside save for some well-cast enlargement charms. Arcana unlatched the lid, disabling her wards, and placed the box in the Dark Lord's outstretched, skeletal hand.

He took each magically sealed phial in hand and lifted it up to the room's dim, flickering light, reading the labels and verifying the quality. The tension in the room was palpable, though Arcana knew he would not find fault in her work. When he was satisfied with the last phial, the Dark Lord conjured a low table with a careless twist of his hand and set Arcana's box upon it.

"It appears," he said thoughtfully, "that despite neglecting your craft for more than a decade, you have not become rusty." He paused for a moment to stroke Nagini. "Indeed," he leaned back in his chair with and odd look on his face, "you have impressed me once again."

Arcana felt cool relief at his proclamation. "I am glad that my hunt was satisfactory to you, my lord," she replied in a quiet deferential tone, glad one thing had gone well. Hope sparked that maybe the Dark Lord was done with her for now and would let her go rest. If she were going to keep up this pace of hunting and still manage to outlive the Dark wizard, she would need to heal.

"This is lucky indeed," said the Dark Lord. A vicious gleam now graced his red eyes, striking a chord of warning in Arcana's heart. She remained silent. The Dark Lord did not appreciate being interrupted.

"I had thought I would have to wait," the Dark Lord continued lightly, that cruel smile forming on his features again.

Arcana's heart began to race. She clenched her jaw and held his gaze.

"To finish your punishment," he hissed, his voice growing cold, "for abandoning me, when I needed you, of all my servants, the most."

Though his words chilled her heart, they caused Arcana's fae pride to bristle angrily like a dragon, rudely awakened from its peaceful slumber. Arcana sneered at the wizard. She was no servant.

"But," he continued, his eyes narrowing in recognition of Arcana's openly displayed disgust, "since you have provided me with all the soul energy I will need for several weeks of experimentation, there is no reason to hold back my anger any longer."

The Dark Lord then stood, towering over Arcana. The soul hunter's indignation melted away, leaving her frozen by fear. She looked up at him, feeling the blood draining from her already pale face. She clenched her hands tightly against the armrests to still her trembling fingers. If the Dark Lord had held back two nights ago, she would need weeks to recover.

She hated this more than anything else she had ever known in her long life: the helplessness and the pain, and those cruel red eyes.

"Get up," the Dark Lord ordered harshly. He turned his back on Arcana in a swirl of black robes, drawing his wand with a flourish, and stalked to the center of the room.

Seeing no alternative, Arcana silently complied. She removed her hat, glasses, and cape with shaking hands and set them on the chair. They would of no use to her and it seemed bitterly fitting to bare her pale face to the one who dared claim lordship over her. If she let the Dark Lord see her agony, he might finish this torture all the sooner.

Drawing upon her fae strength for courage, Arcana stepped in front of the Dark Lord. She looked up at him, meeting his angry red eyes with her dispassionate silver ones, and waited for the inevitable.

"Always the same with you," the Dark Lord said with a quiet intensity that shook Arcana. "Those cold eyes, like shining elven mithril, wild and bright as your magic." He then chuckled briefly. The sound froze Arcana's blood.

"Such a foolish, strong-willed fae," the Dark Lord continued, shaking his head slightly, as if admonishing a troublesome child. "Always trying to hide so much from me, as if I would not see through your pathetic masks." He narrowed his eyes, searching Arcana's face.

"And then when threatened," the Dark Lord said, a terrible force lacing his tone, "you betray yourself, revealing to me the full extent of your High magic and the very essence of your true Wild self."

Arcana took a step back from the Dark Lord. How could he know? If he truly saw, he would not do this. Then again, Arcana shuddered, maybe he still would.

"I can see it in you now," the Dark Lord said, lost in his own power, a manic expression on his snake-like face.

He stepped closer to Arcana, closing the gap between them. The Dark Lord caressed her cheek with his wand and Arcana flinched, feeling the energy of their connection. Arcana's breath was stolen away when the Dark Lord probed the signature of her intrinsic magic.

"My time in shadow has lent me this among other gifts," he hissed.

Arcana gritted her teeth as the uncomfortable intimacy continued. The Dark Lord's newfound sight troubled her.

For the second time that evening the Dark Lord's thoughts brushed against her own. He wanted to see more. He was hungry to touch her very soul.

She willed her heart and mind to remain unmoved, refusing to bend to his will. Though he was a powerful Legilimens, he was not unbeatable. She had to keep him out of her mind. If the Dark Lord overpowered her now, he would break her by torture and manipulation.

Thwarted again, the Dark Lord angrily pulled back from Arcana's mind. "I see what you are trying to do," he hissed, trying to further unnerve Arcana. "You cannot hide from me any longer, soul hunter."

The Dark Lord stepped back and raised his wand toward Arcana's heart.

"And now," the Dark Lord announced, voice soft and menacing. "It is time."

Arcana's cheek twitched in fear. She fought the powerful instinctual desire to strike at the Dark Lord and run.

The Dark Mark seared, slicing through Arcana's consciousness. Terrible pain and the immense fury of the Dark Lord consumed her. She clenched her jaw to remain silent, knowing the Dark Lord wanted to hear her scream.

The burning ceased, releasing Arcana from the fire of the Mark. She knelt on the floor, breathing harshly and clutching her still-throbbing left arm. Arcana closed her eyes for a moment, focusing her mind away from the pain. The Dark Lord had surprised her. She had expected him to use one of his favorite curses, since he had drawn his wand.

"That is all you can do now, isn't it, my hunter?" The Dark Lord's mocking voice grated on Arcana's ears. "You cannot fight back, so you deny me your agonized cries of pain."

Arcana looked up at the tall Dark Lord as he sneered down at her feeble form. Her eyes became riveted to his spidery hands as they began to fiddle impatiently with his wand. His expression darkened and Arcana could feel his anger mounting ever higher. She could almost see the physical manifestation of the wizard's power, a roiling aura of Dark magic.

"Foolish creature." The Dark Lord lowered his voice to a deadly whisper. "You will not be able to hold them back for long."

Another wave of impotent hatred coursed through Arcana. She knew that the Dark Lord spoke the truth. Where was her strength? In days past she had been a powerful fae sorceress. Even when banished here, she had become the feared and cold-hearted soul hunter that wizards only dared mention in hushed whispers. But those times were past. Now she was weak, lost, and lonely. She was nothing more than a pathetic and desperate mage unable to face her own choices.

"At least you are where you belong. Kneeling."

The enraged Dark Lord drew upon the depths of his power, preparing to begin in earnest. On the floor, Arcana closed her eyes.

With a fierce cry the Dark Lord cast, "Crucio!"

Arcana barely felt the scream being wrenched from her. Existence became pain. Her body writhed and thrashed, trying to fight the invisible attacker. Instinctually, she raked her silver claws against the stone floor and scratched at her own armored limbs. Arcana tried to fight back with her mind, to separate her conscious from her tortured body as she had done before, but no matter what she attempted, she could not escape. She faltered and slipped, losing all thought and reason to the unceasing pain.

Arcana gasped in shock when the curse was lifted, keeping her eyes tightly shut. She tried to focus her scattered mind and still her sore, shaking limbs. Each muscle and bone in her lithe frame screamed in terrible harmony with every shuddering breath she took. Arcana had never been under the Cruciatus curse for so long, nor had she ever been truly lost to the pain before.

She would die this way. One day she would not awaken from the pain, but instead fall into blissful darkness. It sounded nice.

Arcana silenced the nearly suicidal thoughts. They frightened her. She opened her eyes slightly, squinting in the dim light. She lay on her side with one arm outstretched toward the Dark Lord's dragonhide boots, gloved hand trembling slightly from the Cruciatus Curse.

The Dark Lord struck Arcana's shoulder with one booted foot, roughly rolling her onto her back. Arcana groaned in pain, and was once again caught by the Dark Lord's crimson eyes.

He attacked her mind for the third time with Legilimency, each strike now fueled by dark rage. Despite the pain, Arcana held strong against the barrage and refused to yield. She knew she could keep him out. This was one way in which she would always be the stronger.

When he realized that he could still not break through her shields, the Dark Lord pulled back and growled in frustration.

Waves of terrible fear, anguish, despair, and betrayal flooded Arcana's mind through her link to the Dark Lord. Behind it all, Arcana could feel his anger. It seethed through her very veins. Was he trying to drive her mad? She had no defense against the excruciating emotions he projected through the searing Mark.

Had the Dark Lord truly expected her to come find him?

She was caught in the storm, her mind clouded and confused. She did not know where her emotions ended and the Dark Lord's projections began. So lost was she in the tormented emotions that she did not even hear the Dark Lord utter the curse again.

The pain went on for an eternity. Whenever Arcana grabbed for mental focus, the Dark Lord twisted the curse to throw her back into mindless agony. From time to time he would lift it and hiss angry words at Arcana, but she was too far gone to comprehend his speech.

When the unbearable pain ceased, Arcana lay helplessly on the floor, shaking in the throes of the curse's aftereffects. Her throat and lungs burned with each gasping breath. She had screamed them raw long ago. Arcana opened her eyes to a dark blur. Her face felt wet and she could taste blood in her mouth. Was it over? Arcana silently begged for relief.

The rustling of robes next to Arcana's ear made her flinch. Concentrating hard, she was able to make out the Dark Lord's white face and red eyes peering down at her, far too close for comfort. Arcana barely heard his quiet and drained voice, revealing a hint of weakness in the aftermath of his intense casting.

"Lord Voldemort never forgives, my hunter," the Dark Lord bent closer. "But now you have repaid me with your pain and your blood." He chuckled darkly, "You are quite lucky actually. I demanded a full thirteen years of repayment from my Death Eaters, my loyal oathbound servants."

Arcana gasped in pain. The Dark Lord had taken a hold of her left arm and pressed his hand against the Mark. He held it there. Arcana's vision began to blur. The burning eased as he released her arm.

With effort, Arcana refocused her eyes enough see the Dark Lord's now bloodstained hand as it passed across her vision.

"I will demand your obedience, hunter," the Dark Lord warned firmly. "Disobey me and I will take back the precious freedom I allow you. The Dark Mark makes you mine," he growled, "whether you wish to believe it or not."

Arcana struggled to remain conscious, but she was fading.

"Once-"

The Dark Lord went silent. Arcana feared that she had done something else to anger him.

"You are much too weak now," he said softly, a mockery of a comforting voice. "Even your endurance has limits."

Arcana was frightened and confused at the Dark Lord's abrupt change in mood. Now that she was helpless, could he actually see the truth? Did he know the full extent of the power he held over her?

"We will continue this when you are healed," the Dark Lord explained. "There is much to be done, much for you to do."

The red eyes closed briefly, then opened again. There was a moment of silence between them, broken only by Arcana's weak gasping breath.

Arcana's eyes fell shut as her exhaustion won.

The Dark Lord's faint whisper fell on her ears. "Perhaps you understand more than you should, Arcana."

Arcana did not understand. Without thinking of the consequences, she opened her mouth to ask what he meant. She tried to speak, but could form no words. The effort almost made her faint from the pain. More tears fell from her eyes and stung her overly sensitized skin.

Before she could try to speak again, Arcana felt the Dark Lord's bony hand brush against her bloody cheek once more.

She was so weak.

"Sleep," he commanded.

Arcana lost all will to fight. She blissfully embraced the dark cradle of sleep, surrendering to the Dark Lord's spell.