A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 11: An Old Friend and the Consequences of His Return

Blackest night cloaked Arcana. The quiet darkness was pierced with the screams of a newly childless mother, and Arcana walked away. The young ones were always easy. They had not yet become so attached to life and their wills remained untested, not yet hardened to the horrors of living. It was too easy, and really a waste, but Arcana did not have time to hunt down choicer prey.

The brief burst of magic Arcana had adsorbed on Samhain fueled her hunt and awoke that part of her which normally slept, allowing her to fulfill the Dark Lord's insatiable demands. She looked beyond and found her next quarry.

The early morning hours led Arcana far afield, and finally the last crystal phial was filled with the soul of an old hermit, who had led a long and troubled life and all too eagerly gave it up to the soul hunter. It was a pity that several hours of darkness remained. She could have continued until dawn. Perhaps she had rushed when she took the child, but it mattered not. It was done.

Chill winds whipped at Arcana's black cloak and tossed about the fallen leaves at her feet, but could not penetrate her thick robes and armor. The first frost had come that bleak night, and Arcana's boots crunched on the frozen ground as she meandered through the dark forest. Even here, the Dark Lord's insinuations and laughter echoed in her ears. He was playing her against her own fears and sadness. She could not allow him to make her doubt, but the worries always seemed to seep back into her heart. Was she living a lie?

Stars twinkled coldly in the black night sky. The bare branches of the tall trees waved wildly in the wind like whip-thin fingers grasping for the glinting silvery lights. As always, the sight of stars stretched across the sky made her spirit burn and her heart beat fierce and free. The Dark Mark hummed softly against her skin, reminding her that, in fact, she was not free. Fury consumed Arcana, and she snarled toward the heavens. One day she would kill him. Perhaps she would present his corpse to the Ministry of Magic . . . Apparate into that posh lobby, dressed in her finest regalia, toss the Dark Lord's body on the desk of the Minister of Magic, and blast that obscene fountain into many pieces on the way out. Yes, it was good to dream.

Icy cold spread through Arcana, and she froze, standing perfectly still in the small clearing into which she had wandered. Huge black, leathery wings filled her vision, and she backed cautiously toward the trees. Cloven hooves scorched the frosty ground, and Arcana's nose twitched at the scent of burnt leaves and earth. The beast's black flanks heaved, and he snorted harshly, tossing his head high. His long black mane flew in the wind, and starlight glinted off his single silvery horn.

The black unicorn's eyes held a Wild madness and a Darkness that promised to drive away the reason of any mortal who dared catch his gaze, but for Arcana he was a most welcome sight. She went to him with a ferocious joy in her heart, ecstatic that he had finally come back to her, and met him unafraid. With the communion of their minds, Arcana's doubts were utterly destroyed. This was real. This was what was meant to be, just like her Samhain duty. The Dark Lord could not blind her to the truth. She was Arcana. She was fae. She was now.

To the hunt, the black unicorn insisted in thoughtform that was more imagery and emotion than word. His will pulled at Arcana, urging her - lusting, hungering for the souls of the lost. It mattered not that they would not go to the Dark Lord. She had filled his needs. This was a hunt, a revel in the Darkness. This was theirs.

Arcana leapt upon the black unicorn's back, and they took to the sky. His powerful muscles flexed as his great wings beat the air. Wind rushed in her face, and she saw through his eyes as well as her own. She was searching, looking, sensing, finding . . . there! The ecstatic magic rushed over her, and they moved on, fast and far, cloaked in the night, searching, hunting, feasting.

*** *** *** ***

The sun had risen, cold and bright, by the time Arcana had left the black unicorn to return to Slytherin's Valley. The surrounding hills were dusted grey with frost, but that icy breath had not crept into the Valley yet. The forest was dark, damp, cold, and muddy. The more aggressive creatures stirred as Arcana passed. Food was becoming scarce, and some of the beasts were in season, but they were not so desperate as to attack yet. That would come in a few months.

The Dark Mark began to itch and burn before Arcana reached the fortress entrance. She gripped her left arm angrily. The carven snakes on the doors slithered warily. Arcana climbed the stairs to the doors, charmed the mud from her robes and boots, and then glared at the door, seriously considering striking one large snake that was looking at her particularly suspiciously. The doors remained closed.

"Are you going to open or not?" Arcana hissed furiously, and tried to push away all happy images of the Dark Lord's bloody corpse at her feet. Rather reluctantly, the doors opened just enough for Arcana to slip through.

Voices came from the shadows atop one of the wide staircases in the entryway.

". . . Bloody butcher these days. New moon tonight, of course." Arcana recognized the irritated tone of Snape.

"This one's fresh, Snape, if the other husks are already rotting," replied McNair's husky voice.

The pair appeared out of the shadows on one of the staircases. McNair was in Death Eater robes with his mask in one hand and his wand in the other, carelessly Levitating a newly mindless prisoner. Snape had obviously not been out on the Dark Lord's business, being dressed in his normal black robes. Arcana picked up the scent of blood and potion ingredients.

"It's already half bled out, McNair- " Snape stopped and sneered upon seeing Arcana. "Hunter," he said coldly.

Arcana flashed them both a toothy snarl and strode past them up the stairs.

"Vicious little- " Arcana heard whispered from behind.

Snape hissed at McNair for quiet. A muttered, "Damn . . . ears . . ." was all Arcana could discern as she turned down another winding corridor.

The Dark Lord was in the sitting room again - the same one that he had been in when Arcana had returned to him last June. More Death Eaters were outside the room, still in their hooded robes and masks. They looked down at Arcana as she passed, and she felt their eyes on her back as stepped through the open door. The sting of the Dark Mark on her arm eased.

"Return to the Ministry," the Dark Lord hissed softly to the Death Eater kneeling at his feet. "Everything is falling into place nicely." The Death Eater muttered about his undying loyalty, kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, and left without looking toward Arcana.

"Ah, my hunter has returned." The Dark Lord beckoned to Arcana to join him by the hearth, and then pointed sharply to the door, which shut and locked with a loud click. He continued to conduct their business in private as per the terms of their original contract.

Arcana bowed stiffly, tossed off the Dark Lord's mental tricks, and sat in the old, creaking leather chair across from him in front of the fire. She would always remember this room as a place of agony, even though her reason said it was just another hole in the bedrock. There might even be a subtle magic working here to make her think just that. It was something that the Dark Lord would do. The room reeked of spilt blood today, which did not help matters.

"The night was successful, my lord." She handed him a leather pouch full of clinking crystal vials, and then went about removing her hat and such when the Dark Lord glared at her pointedly. The room was too hot, as always. He went about the normal inspection of her catch, and Arcana stared at the flickering patterns of shadows made by the firelight on the bare walls. She could not feel any magic bent on influencing memory, but she dared not make a thorough inspection.

Everything was irritatingly silent except for the crackling fire and the clinking crystal phials. A nervous energy began building in Arcana, a burning in her soul, and after a few minutes of stillness, the desire became unbearable. She had to get up and pace, or move, or do something. She clenched her hands around the armrests, trying to drown out the sensations flitting through her mind, and the aged leather bent unwillingly beneath her fingers. The rush of wind, the beating of wings, and the fire of those Wild eyes caught her up, and for an instant she was flying again.

"What has gotten into you, hunter?" The Dark Lord's cold voice cut through the vision. She was suddenly back in the room, and a terrible hatred pulsed through her veins. He had tried to trick her.

"I am myself, Dark Lord, despite what you would have me believe," Arcana bit out sharply, and stood, no longer able to contain the energy within.

The Dark Lord had his wand in hand faster than she would have thought possible. "Sanguinus Gelidus."

Arcana crumpled to the floor, and groaned in agony as her blood slowly chilled. She curled into a ball in front of the fire, pulling her knees to her chest, trying to keep warm, before her limbs stiffened utterly except for the mad trembling. She gasped painfully in shallow breaths with lungs that no longer wanted to work, her breath condensing into mist despite the warmth of the room. She could almost feel her lips turn blue. Her feet and hands went numb. The room began to blur.

"Finite Incantatem," he hissed softly.

Arcana's chest heaved as breathing became possible, but she stayed still, remembering from the last time that it was best to let the effects of the curse fade before moving.

The Dark Lord's boots clacked sharply on the floor, and his robes rustled as he knelt by Arcana's side, twirling his wand between long fingers. "My, my. We are in a mood today. I wondered how long it would take for this to happen."

He grasped Arcana's tightly braided hair and jerked her head back sharply. She gasped in pain as stiff muscles strained, the effects of the curse still freezing her body.

"Tell your lord," he whispered and caught Arcana's unfocused gaze. The piercing red eyes tried to pry out her secrets, but she snarled and held him back. Her hair was wrenched back again, harder this time, and the Dark Lord put his wand to her throat. The hint of amusement in his expression died.

Fear lanced through Arcana, and she went perfectly still. She took several deep breaths and closed her eyes, feeling the madness drain away, leaving her tired and empty. "My lord," she whispered. The pressure of the wand against her throat ceased. She relaxed against his hand in her hair, letting it support her head. It was the black unicorn, she realized. His mind had still been entwined with hers.

The Dark Lord released the hold on her hair and swept back to his chair. "Now you are yourself, my fae."

Shivering, Arcana sat upright and rested her head in her hands for a moment before crawling closer to the fire. She was deathly cold. "A black unicorn, my lord," she said softly, fighting to keep her teeth from chattering. "He came to me, and we hunted." She raised her gloved hands to the flames. "I will clear my mind after hunting with him in the future."

"Yes you will, Arcana," the Dark Lord said coldly, "or I will do it for you. But it does explain this." He held up the pouch that held significantly more souls than her average nightly catch. "Always full of surprises, my fae. And I had thought you were just in a mood."

"I was, my lord. He came after I took the souls you hold." The vicious joy of riding rushed back, but she knew it for what it was now and banished the foreign feeling from her mind. She closed her eyes and sighed, not liking the calculating glint in the Dark Lord's eyes. "The fates were right for the hunt." And for dreaming wonderful dreams, she reminded herself.

The Dark Lord allowed Arcana a few minutes to recover in silence while he finished his inspection of the souls she had brought him. When she trusted her limbs, she carefully stood and stumbled back to her chair, which she collapsed into gratefully, having no more desire to pace about the room.

"I want you to focus on research, my fae. Hunt when you will, but I want that demon named. I also have questions regarding another fae book. I will summon you this evening."

Arcana nodded in acquiescence, feeling tired and strangely old. All she wanted was a warm bath and a few hours of sleep.

"You may go, my hunter."

Arcana replaced her hat and glasses, and drew her collar back up to hide her face. She stood and bowed, frowning at her creaking joints. "Good day, my lord."

The few Death Eaters that still hovered near the sitting room looked down at Arcana as she passed. She ignored their masked stares, too tired and frustrated to play their game. When she turned the corner, she heard one whisper: "Jugson owes me ten Galleons. Not one scream." If it had not been a risk to her safety would Arcana consider performing a muffling charm on her pointed ears. Her humiliation before the Dark Lord was bad enough. She did not want to hear his Death Eaters mocking her further. If only she could retaliate and leave a few bloody corpses in the corridor to remind them of her power, they would give her more respect, or at least wait until she was out of earshot to begin uttering their insults. She was not the Dark Lord's pet.

A warm bath was exactly what Arcana had needed. The water washed away the last of the effects of the Blood Chilling Curse and soothed her bruised temper. She had endured the cursing and continued the conversation without even thinking of fighting back. It was disgusting, but perhaps it was better this way. The Dark Lord had seemed rather pleased despite her initial behavior, and the tense but calm relations were a vast improvement to fighting serious Legilimency - today had just been a bit of prodding - and worrying about Unforgivables every day.

She donned blue silk robes, let down her hair, and rubbed her scalp where it was sore from the yanking that the Dark Lord had given it. The long white mane draped over her shoulders, ending somewhere near her knees. The short wisps around her face danced as a cold breeze blew through the room, then falling wherever they wished, which seemed to be in front of her eyes. Arcana tucked the misbehaving wisps behind her ears and pulled the rest of her fine white hair to one side before sitting on her bed and lying back against the soft pillows. It felt good to have her hair down.

With a practiced flick of her wrist, Arcana summoned her crystal ball to her hand. It appeared directly from the closed drawer where she had been keeping it, accompanied by the sound of tiny tinkling bells. She held it up to the candlelight and watched the magic sparkle within. Half-formed images of dead dreams waltzed inside the crystal, making a wan smile pull at Arcana's lips. She sighed softly, and lowered her hand, still keeping the crystal in her grasp.

"Nox," she whispered, and the candles flickered out.