A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 22: Unending Nightmares

The Dark Lord promptly released Arcana after Apparating, and she sank to the cold floor at his feet. Her vision narrowed, the world tilting on its side, and she grasped at the Dark Lord's boots. He set down the pitcher of spring water on the counter and pulled away from her weak hold. Arcana shivered. The ghost of laughter echoed through her mind, and she pressed her hands over her ears, though she knew it would not silence that evil.

Arcana's Dark Mark burned, and the Dark Lord pulled her gaze up to him with the force of his will. Crimson eyes shone in the visage of a pale serpent, and his lanky body cloaked in sweat soaked black robes, all within a thin red-black haze. She felt the tangle of their magic, still connected from the ritual, and she jerked away, wrenching the chords of energy asunder. The shock sent her doubling over, and she clenched her teeth against the urge to scream. The Dark Lord grasped the edge of the counter and hissed, going grey.

Her bathroom, Arcana realized as her perception widened from the terror inside. He had dropped her on the floor.

"I see you are still your petty, vindictive self," he bit out, "and you seem to have everything in order." He ran his fingers along the potion bottles she had set out earlier and then stepped around Arcana, heading toward the door. "If have energy for that, you're certainly capable of healing yourself, fae. I have other matters to attend to."

Paralyzing fear cut through Arcana's sluggish thoughts, and she reached out to stop him.

"Wait." The hem of the Dark Lord's cloak slipped through her fingers. He could not leave her now. She had not meant anything cruel. The demon was waiting for her to be alone. She could sense it.

"I gave you my house-elf for a reason, Arcana," he said without stopping. "Call her if you need assistance."

"You promised, my lord," Arcana accused. The Dark Lord stopped. "You gave your word. You will not let it take me!" The Dark Lord slowly turned back to Arcana. Red eyes narrowed, and her Dark Mark burned.

"Xhal Thos is banished."

The whispers in Arcana's mind held a different opinion. It was still here, waiting. He just did not see it.

"But it . . . I can still feel . . . it said it would come back," she stumbled over the disorganized thoughts clattering around in her mind. The Dark Lord clutched his robes closer with spidery hands.

"Simply the aftereffects of the blood letting. It will pass. Good day, my fae."

The Dark Lord Disapparated, and Arcana let out a dissonant keen of loss.

There was an odd hollow where his magic had mingled with hers, like a hated guardian - her hated protector-tormentor - had vanished, leaving her alone in the void, alone with a demon. How dare the Dark Lord just leave her? Arcana had fulfilled her side of their bargain. The Dark Lord had his horrible book, and she had been abandoned. She willed the backlash of the magical contract to sting.

A cold breeze made Arcana shiver. It felt like the demon's breath against her neck. A faint sense of alien cruelty loomed over her, and then it vanished. She looked down and saw her bloodied hands. Her heart beat faster, and she felt faint.

His blood.

A soft crack sounded on the far side of the bathroom, and Arcana sensed Shelly's presence.

"Lady? Lady Arcana needs help," came Shelly's plaintive call. The Dark Lord must have sent her.

"Wait, Shelly. Wait until I call you," Arcana ordered desperately, clinging to the bit of rationality that had reasserted itself. She had made Shelly promise to obey such a command when the house-elf had wanted to serve Arcana after she returned from the hunt. Arcana knew what she could do if not in the right state of mind, and she had no wish for further regrets weighing down her soul. Never was she so glad of Shelly's obedience. Vengeance would be hers.

"Shelly remembers, Lady," the house-elf called back frantically. "Shelly will wait nearby. Just call for Shelly, Lady. Shelly will come right away."

There was the quick padding of feet on soft rugs as Shelly made herself busy in other parts of Arcana's rooms. Arcana sighed and raised her hands to examine the clotted blood staining her fingers, thick under her claws. There were even some silk fibers from where she had torn through the Dark Lord's robes. His mistake.

A cold smile pulled her lips away from a grimace, but a wave of dizziness shook her out of glee. She summoned a small crystal jar, cringing at the sharp pain that shot down her spine, and quickly scraped off most of the dried blood and silk, leaving a bit just in case the Dark Lord later remembered and asked Shelly if her hands had been clean. Arcana capped the jar and stashed it in a drawer for the moment. She leaned against the smooth wall, trembling. Oh he would pay, and it would be glorious.

Don't think you're rid of me so easily, little fae . . .

Arcana's heart beat too quickly. The room tilted and her vision became a swirl of magic and then darkened. Red plains spread before her eyes under a red sunless sky and the stench of sulfur burned her nose. She heard the crunch of hooves on gravelly earth behind her and that laugh. The world righted itself, and Arcana was alone and cold, sitting on the floor, shaking.

She reached up and desperately searched for the pitcher on the counter, nearly knocking it over when her trembling hands finally found it. She frantically drank the freezing water, dousing the wound on her neck and stripping out of the sodden black silk. It tore, but she barely heard it. The robes would be burned soon enough anyway. She scrubbed her pale skin raw until she exhausted herself and lay naked in a frigid puddle on the floor. In her madness she had washed away the last of the blood on her hands.

"Shelly," Arcana called out weakly. She needed her potions, but her head felt so heavy, the world was spinning, and she was so cold and filthy. So filthy. Demon filth inside of her, in her mind and body.

Shelly was at Arcana's side in an instant. "Oh, my poor Lady. Must warm up, Lady Arcana. No worries now. Shelly will take care of Lady Arcana." The house-elf was a blur of manic energy to Arcana's eyes, and she relaxed when Shelly's magic wrapped around her.

The warmth of the bath water shocked Arcana, but a gentle touch calmed her again. A mocking chuckle drifted by, and she shuddered. Those color-defying eyes were watching. Arcana reached down deeply into the magic of the land, like tangling her fingers in the black unicorn's mane, and the weight of the eyes lifted.

"Lady must drink her potions." Shelly held the goblet up for Arcana to take, and the scent of the rose hip infusion tickled her nose. She carefully sat upright and waited a moment for her vision to clear. When the magic faded to a glimmering overlay Arcana took the goblet and drank the warm potion, thankful that her brews usually tasted significantly better than wizard concoctions, probably because she rarely had to rely on the innards of slimy creatures to craft the desired magic.

When Arcana swallowed the last drop of the rose hip infusion Shelly pressed a second goblet into her hands. A simple calming potion, Arcana remembered, and she drank it as well. The fog of lingering terror cleared, leaving her far too rational for the moment. There were a great many things to ponder that she'd rather let alone.

"Thank you, Shelly. The rest can wait for now," Arcana said evenly, noting that Shelly had taken the shock of the situation quite well.

"No need to thank Shelly, Lady. Shelly just wants to help." The house-elf banished the goblets back to the counter and started taking down Arcana's wet hair. "Shelly will get Lady Arcana cleaned up and warm. Then to bed to sleep."

Arcana sighed and let Shelly do as she wished. It would be better that way. Using the moment of lucidity, she carefully examined the painfully raw scars on her magic, physically cringing just tracing them with her mind. It was no wonder summoning the jar had hurt so badly. The true wonder was that she had held the wards so long. Channeling that much magic through her being, forcing it through the scars . . . still, it was nothing compared to what she had done to earn them.

Arcana would be doing very little spellcasting until the scars healed over. Healed was not really the proper word though. They would never heal, but rest would make them bearable again. The Dark Lord did not know about the scars - she had left that out of her story about the war with Kalrash along with many other personal details. There was no reason to give him more power over her, and such knowledge was dangerously powerful even if it did belong to another lifetime.

Back in the fae realms blood loss would be cured with a thought. There were no demons, no Dark Lords, no wizards, no sickeningly mortal humans at all, but there were still volumes of hatred and loneliness. There had been friends too once.

She missed her Solace. The still mist over the sea, the wind gently rustling the leaves on the trees, the welcoming embrace she felt when she first walked its lands . . . she so longed to return.

Shelly gently wiped away the stray tears without a word and then continued washing Arcana's hair.

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

The comfort of Arcana's soft bed and the sweet fragrance of mullein - a promoter of peaceful sleep - faded to nothingness as soon as her head hit the pillow. She had survived the longest night of the year, and the new dawn would guard her slumber.

All too soon the dark stillness drew back, and Arcana looked upon rusty barren lands that stretched out endlessly under a red sunless sky. The sound of hooves crushing the gravelly earth behind her returned along with the weight of those terrible, colorless eyes on her back.

I would have been kind, little fae, if you had come easily . . . but I no longer feel so generous.

Arcana did not look behind her. She ran, her bare feet screaming as the sharp rocks tore into them.

Run, run, little fae. The chase always heightens the pleasure. No longer the hunter, little fae. Run, my prey.

She ran, breath burning in her lungs, spurred forward by the crunching of gravel so close behind her. A familiar rough hand grazed Arcana's shoulder and her body went boneless, collapsing to the ground. The hands and the eyes . . .

Arcana screamed. Her left arm burned.

She woke abruptly, soaked in sweat and shaking. The crack of Apparition and the shift of magic confirmed the origin of the burning, and Arcana tucked her left arm against her stomach in a futile attempt to lessen the pain. She had never been so thankful to look up at the Dark Lord's crimson eyes. Every line of him was drawn, tired, and very angry.

"I was sleeping, Arcana."

Arcana had no reply, and just lay on the bed, trembling. The Dark Mark quieted, settling to a hum under her skin. She reached out, wishing he would take her hand, wishing he would come near, wishing he would enfold her in his magic - that rotted black-red velvet. Anything was better than the wrongness that had pervaded her dreams. The Dark Lord stood still, the suspicious serpent, and then reached out and took her wrist in a painful grip.

"While this behavior might be amusing another time, I lack the patience today. Do not push me, Arcana." The Dark Lord stepped closer and ran his fingers down the side of her face. "Sleep," he commanded. Darkness took Arcana again.

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

Arcana floated in a calm sea of nothingness, utterly relaxed and warm, drifting through dreamless sleep with an extreme clarity of mind. She could almost think on some level, yet it felt as if she did not need to think, that ideas and concepts flowed by her of their own accord. This was the deep sleep she half-recalled between bouts of agony, cold hands, and bitter potions in the weeks after the Dark Lord had tortured her so terribly.

Although she fought to stay in that peaceful sea - she truly fought - the darkness faded into red skies once more. The sharp gravel of the barren lands cut into her bare feet, and Xhal Thos was behind her, its hands heavy on her shoulders. Arcana tried to pull away, tried to run, but the demon held her fast by its will, and her body did not obey her commands.

Don't move, little fae. There is something I want you to see. It would be a shame to leave your memories incomplete . . .

The hot air shimmered before Arcana's eyes, and she gasped. Two fae appeared before them, one she recognized from her given memory, and the other she did not. He too was familiar in some way, but her brain could not quite connect the pieces of information to form a coherent picture. The fae Arcana remembered lay prone on the ground, her eyes wide in terror, staring at the space behind the one who was, at the very least, her lover. The connection between them was strong.

A familiar demon, wearing a rusty-skinned, reptilian appearance, shimmered to life at the edge of the memory. It latched onto the fae man and drank his life, an expression of ecstasy on its face. The man screamed silently and the woman wept. Arcana somehow knew that the woman had already worn down the last of her rage to despair - the emotions of the given memory overlapped the sight before her. The memory demon stopped, leaving the fae man with just enough life, just enough of his soul, to survive for a short time, and then wrapped its scaly hands around the fae man's throat.

Cold sweat beaded on Arcana's face, and she knew what was coming.

Don't look away now, little fae.

She fought Xhal Thos's command, trying to turn her head, to close her eyes, to shut her mind away from the unfolding scene, but its will bound her. The memory demon's hands tightened and pulled. All three fae screamed, and blood splattered across Arcana's body. Xhal Thos sighed in pleasure.

There are very few things so exciting as the scent of fresh blood on the wind.

The memory demon let the fae man's body drop to the ground, and hellhounds shimmered to life around it, tearing into the almost dead flesh. The memory demon held the fae man's still living head by the hair, forcing him to watch. Arcana retched, but there was nothing in her stomach to come up, and Xhal Thos chuckled behind her.

In those days we could be . . . wasteful. So delightful. But no more. We must take all we can find and drain it dry . . .

Arcana had seen brutality and death on the battlefield, she had done terrible things in her time, but those experiences just made the scene spread before her all the more sickening. The memory demon went to the fae woman, and Xhal Thos's hands tightened on Arcana's shoulders, his breathing harsh as he licked the edge of her ear with his rough tongue. Arcana's body was wracked with dry heaves again.

We will have such fun together, little fae. I will not forgive you for fighting me. You should have come back with me of your own accord. I would have been so kind . . . but not now. You will suffer so beautifully, little fae.

Arcana screamed as the memory continued to unfold, the new perspective overlapping with the old. She understood how her given memory had come to pass. She knew that the memory demon had sent back the man's head back to the fae realms, laughing the whole time, and he had just enough time to pass along a fractured memory before dying.

Death. Surrounded by death. Suffocated by death. She too would die, but not by the hand of a demon. Her death would be by the hand of the Dark Lord . . . the Dark Lord . . . this was another nightmare. She was in her bed. This was not real, yet it seemed so real. It hurt like it was real, but it was not. She tried to pull the veil of sleep aside, fought to escape, but Xhal Thos held her, laughing. Brimstone burned her nose.

Arcana woke abruptly, groaning in pain and curling into a ball on her side, pressing her left arm against her stomach. White-hot iron had been thrust into her Dark Mark and it would not stop burning. She gasped as the pain ebbed, and her right hand drifted to her cheek, which stung, as if it had just been slapped rather hard.

"It seems that something stronger than a charm is in order," the Dark Lord said coldly, cutting through the fog clouding Arcana's thoughts. He was just as exhausted as the last time he had woken Arcana and his anger had progressed towards fury, but Arcana simply did not care.

That . . . nightmare had been considerably worse than the first, and if they continued to progress her sanity would surely falter. She might not wake the next time. Arcana shivered under the sweat-soaked blankets, wishing she could charm them dry, but it would hurt more than the comfort was worth.

"You should appreciate my methods now, Arcana. Xhal Thos is certainly far crueler than I, and I do almost envy the ease with which it instills such fear in you."

Arcana sneered, baring her teeth, but the sharp sting that shot through her brand broke her rage before it flared to life. She cringed, rolling over to turn away from the Dark Lord, and stared across the room, not daring to close her eyes in case the demon still hovered there, waiting. She did not hear the mocking laughter now that the Dark Lord was at her side. He should have stayed - it was his duty.

"Perhaps if you accepted me as your lord I would be more inclined to oblige, my fae," the Dark Lord hissed. Arcana rolled back over and glared up at him, in no mood to humor his games. "It's written all over you. No need for Legilimency," he said harshly. Arcana reinforced her mental shields anyway, and the Dark Lord's eyes narrowed, sensing her defensiveness.

He withdrew a vial containing a dark, viscous potion from his robes.

"Drink it."

"No." Arcana scooted to the other side of the bed, pulling the tangled blankets with her, prepared to fight if need be.

"We both need sleep, fae, and if you don't sleep quietly, neither do I," the Dark Lord growled, not bothering to hide his frustration.

"I will not sleep. It is not banished. It is still here and it won't stop tormenting . . ." Arcana shuddered as images from her last nightmare resurfaced.

"This potion dropped you into dreamless sleep quite effectively before." Arcana did not move, and she felt the Dark Lord's fury spike. "I can recreate the exact conditions if you force my hand." The Dark Lord drew his wand and aimed it at the base of Arcana's throat, and she shivered, remembering the pain. "I will not tolerate this behavior."

"These are not just dreams. It will drive me mad," Arcana whispered, her eyes riveted to the tip of his wand. "You're letting it . . . you want it to . . . you are killing me . . . what did you do?" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "What did it promise you?" she demanded wildly.

"Silence!" the Dark Lord commanded. Arcana froze, her eyes wide, but unfocused. Magic swirled around her - blood-red eddies of the Dark Lord's rage.

The bed shifted as the Dark Lord sat down at Arcana's side. Cold fingers brushed her cheek, and swirling magic dissolved back into physical reality. Her hands shook with the desire to shove him away, but if she touched him, he would make her scream. Her throat was raw from screaming in the dream already.

"No more charms," Arcana begged. "No more."

The Dark Lord's hand slid around to grip the back of her neck, and the vial was placed at her lips. Arcana shook her head in refusal, imagining the horrors that were waiting to trap her in sleep.

"Drink. There will be no dreams." The Dark Lord's voice was soft and his magic wrapped around her like a warm, dark cloak, catching her as the rush of adrenaline wore off, leaving her weak and hollow. The strange gentleness lulled Arcana's fears and she relaxed, accepting the embrace of magic. She was so tired.

"There were no dreams before, and there could have been if I had wished it, but I am a merciful lord. Drink."

Arcana opened her mouth and the potion slid down her throat, heavy and cold. She heard a soft, hissing sigh and felt the pillow under her head, and then there was nothing.

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

Red skies burned through the darkness for just a moment, and then Arcana awoke with a start. Her thoughts were fuzzy and her limbs felt weighted with lead thanks to the potion and the still flickering mullein-wicked candles by her bedside. She blew them out with a thought, cringing at the sharp pain shooting through her core. Next time she would remember to use her wand. Some of the fogginess faded, and Arcana stretched, feeling surprisingly refreshed. The Dark Lord's potion must have been very potent, and it would probably be best not to think about what had gone into it, especially since she could still taste the bitter remnants of it at the back of her throat.

Nagini had been installed at the foot of Arcana's overlarge bed again, and though she was entirely under a blanket, Arcana could tell the snake was cold, as well as bored and rather petulant. Nagini poked her head out and flicked her tongue at Arcana before burrowing under the blanket again. Arcana rolled her eyes, steadying herself with a hand on the bed against a wave of dizziness, and withdrew her wand from the drawer of her bedside table. With a flick of her wrist and a silent spell, Nagini's blanket warmed, and the snake hissed in appreciation. Nagini was still grumpy about being stuck fae-sitting again, Arcana could tell, but she was in no mood to entertain the Dark Lord's familiar. The warming charm had stung, but it was a vast improvement over the flash of blinding pain that came from casting wandless magic.

The need to relieve her bladder and the rumbling of her stomach struck simultaneously, making Arcana scowl at her body, wishing it would decide what it wanted. The loo first, her body decided quickly enough, and she stumbled getting out of bed. At least now she knew the side effects of the Dark Lord's sleeping potion and would recognize them should he force it down her throat again.

She paused to lean against the archway between her bedroom and bathroom to dispel the lingering dizziness and flexed the muscles in her limbs in a half-hearted attempt to wake them. The rugs ended here and the bare floor was cold, but Arcana's slippers were all the way back at her bed along with her wand. She grumbled and padded to the loo on icy feet while trying to mentally estimate the volume of fluids she had consumed after the ritual and failing. She would probably need to refill the spring water pitcher.

Once Arcana's bladder had been appeased, the itchiness of the dried sweat coating her skin became exponentially more bothersome. A warm bath sounded very appealing, but her stomach rumbled again insistently. A frigid breeze whistled across the high ceiling, and Arcana cursed the ancient ventilation system. She smelled snow in the breeze. No wonder her rooms were so cold.

Arcana stuck her feet in her slippers, threw a heavy robe over her shift, and raised her hand to light the fire with a wandless charm. Just in time she remembered not to do it that way, snagged her wand, and flicked it toward the hearth. Flames sprang up and the room started to warm immediately. Nagini shifted under the blanket, and Arcana stuck her wand in her belt.

Magical fire was much more effective than the natural variety, if it was charmed correctly. It could just as easily burn through stone and iron as heat a room, but Arcana controlled the spell with little effort. Age did have a few benefits, and careful control of magic was one of them. On the other hand, knowing enough to get dragged into summoning an Iddimu with a Dark wizard was a distinct disadvantage.

Shelly appeared with a crack, and before Arcana could open her mouth the house-elf rattled off, "Oh, Lady Arcana is awake. Shelly will be right back!"

Shelly Disapparated, and Arcana sighed, gingerly touching the side of her neck as the demon bite began throbbing. No more demons, she swore. Unless they came pounding on her door in person, she would have nothing to do with demons from then on . . . at least not in her waking hours. Arcana shuddered, thinking of the fates of the fae in her nightmare. Xhal Thos was not going to let her be.

Shelly reappeared, carrying a large tray laden with food and drink.

"Late dinner, early breakfast for Lady Arcana. Lady must be hungry. Lady slept for a long time." The house-elf, looking like a tray with legs, led Arcana into the living room.

The fae's stomach growled, and she looked up through the rock of the fortress with her second sight, sensing that it was indeed the small hours of the morning. Trust her body to wake up at an inconvenient time. It often didn't care to follow a human schedule. Lucky her.

As soon as Shelly had sat Arcana down, the house-elf ran off again. "Shelly will get Lady's potion." Arcana lit the fire in the living room, again using her wand, and then tucked into the meal. Shelly was back quickly with a bottle of the rose hip infusion and a crystal goblet. It would take a couple days yet for Arcana's body to replenish the blood lost during the ritual.

"Here's Lady's potion, and the Master told Shelly to give Lady these." Shelly handed Arcana three vials and a short note. Arcana recognized the sleeping potion.

Drink it before you sleep.

Well, that was rather obvious, Arcana thought tersely, and stuck the vials and note in a pocket. She did not like the bitter potion, or its side effects, but if it kept Xhal Thos out of her dreams for a few more nights she really couldn't complain.

"Thank you, Shelly," Arcana said in between bites. She was very hungry.

"No need to thank Shelly, Lady. Shelly is happy to help. The Master also told Shelly that Lady Arcana was not to leave the grounds without his permission. Lady is supposed to rest." Resting was about all that Arcana was good for at this point, and both she and the Dark Lord knew it.

"Did he have any further orders, Shelly?" Arcana asked, pouring a measure of the rose hip infusion into the goblet.

"No other orders but rest and stay on the grounds, Lady. The Master does not want to be disturbed unless it is urgent."

Arcana hid a vicious smile behind the goblet for Shelly's benefit. The Dark Lord must have been feeling his share of aftereffects from the summoning ritual. He would pay for coercing her into performing it with him - he would pay for everything. In the end he would be the one begging for mercy, and she would not need a demon to help her exact her revenge.

It had begun already with his blood on her hands, and it would likely end that way as well. She needed to hide those precious flakes of dried blood as soon as possible. Three different locations should be suitable. There was enough blood for three - the magic Arcana planned to utilize did not require much. No more sitting back and waiting for Dumbledore, Potter, or the bloody Ministry of Magic to do their jobs. She, Arcana, would be the Dark Lord's downfall, and it would be grand.

Shelly took away the empty dishes, promising to return and run Arcana a bath. Arcana sighed and put her hand to the demon bite again. A dark chuckle drifted through her mind, or it might have just been the howling wind. The Dark Mark was quiet under her skin and less irritated than she had expected considering that the Dark Lord seemed to think it made a fine alarm clock. Arcana stopped to check on Nagini on the way to the bathroom, but the snake wanted nothing to do with her, still hiding under the blanket at the foot of Arcana's bed.

Xhal Thos had not mangled her neck too badly, Arcana noted, looking in the mirror. The wound would not heal as fast as Xerusk's bites though, and the scars would be slow to fade. The Dark Lord and Xerusk already had their marks on her. She did not need a mark that proclaimed "this one summons demons at Winter Solstice for fun." Life was complicated enough as it was, though she had only herself to blame for most of it.

"Lady's bath is ready," Shelly called eagerly. Arcana made her way to her bathroom. "It's a cold Christmas Eve, Lady. Shelly will get Lady warmed up! Sunrise should be pretty. Lady should go watch. Shelly hasn't seen snow on the grounds for years."

Arcana smiled, her heart warming to Shelly's kindness, and stepped out of her slippers. "I think I may just do that, Shelly. Dawn is just what I need to see today."