The Dark of the Moon

by Zajac

Lathal the Abomination had survived for over one thousand years, before he was sent past the ninth gate by the Abhorsen Lirael. Set in the interregnum, this is the story of the second time he broke into life, and the terrible destruction he wrought.

I.

It was the darkest night of the year.

Rarely, vanishingly rarely, the dark of the moon would fall on the winter solstice, and a night as thick and black as pitch would stretch unbroken for far longer than a night should stretch.

The torches that had been carried throughout the celebration of the solstice had pushed back the early darkness for a time, but against such a sea of blackness, they were of little use. The villagers had been made uneasy by the darkness of this night, so the celebrations had ended early.

And so, after a nod to ceremony, the villagers had retreated to their houses, shuttered their windows, and bolted their doors.

They knew that this was not a night to sleep unprotected. They had heard tales of other villages destroyed by the Dead, the Charter Stones they relied on for protection shattered by magic that was forgotten from the minds of all those who feared evil.

But few were those who felt more than unease, for surely evil would not visit here, this safe haven of theirs. Surely, the Dead would not come and shatter the calm of their village.

Somewhere in the night, an animal screamed in terror.

II.

The current was strong against Lathal's legs, strong and incessant. It acted against his will to return to life, tempted him to give up his centuries long struggle, that had seen him trek ever so slowly back form the Seventh Gate of Death.

Once he had lived, and once he had walked in life as one of the Dead. But the Abhorsen had sent him back, and walked him to the very edge of the Seventh Gate.

It had taken him two centuries to return to the First Precinct.

He fought against the influence of the current. He would not give in it's nagging voice so close to life.

Lathal took several more steps. He could feel the border of Life and Death just ahead, just around a slight bend in the river.

Lathal took one step forward, and then another. Life was so close. This time he was smarter. He knew blasphemous rituals passed on from Kerrigor, the greatest of the dead. He would not return to Death once he left.

III.

The Traveler galloped pell-mell through the forest, desperately trying to coax speed from his flagging mount. The wolves had come out of nowhere, their sleet gray hides blending perfectly into the dirty snow of the forest.

He hadn't even noticed their presence until he was surrounded by a dozen glowing orbs, and by then it had almost been too late. Only the speed of his horse had saved him, but that was now fading.

He heard a snarl behind him, and glanced back as his horse raced around a turn. He saw the low hanging branch too late, and as it hit him and tossed him from the saddle, his whole world went black.

His horse continued to run, as the sounds of tearing meat and the absence of a load giving it new speed.

IV.

Lathal was close to the border with life when he felt a doorway open. Someone had died a violent death, and in doing so, had opened a passage into Life. Cackling with glee, Lathal rushed at the rapidly closing doorway, and emerged into Life.

Lathal felt a body nearby, and stole it for his own use. He batted the wolves away, and they ran in terror, tails between their legs.

Lathal delighted in the feeling of being in Life again, of having a body to call his own.

With the force of his will, he repaired the damage the wolves had wrought, and reshaped the body to suit his needs. Slowly, the corpse grew in height, becoming seven feet tall and skeletally thin. Spines of bones broke through the skin at the shoulders and wrists.

After several minutes of concentrated effort, Lathal left the path where he had emerged into Life. It was time for him to hunt.

V.

The windows were shuttered, and the door bolted. The light of the fire was hidden by the thick wooden shutters, and the curl of smoke for the chimney was hidden by the darkness of the night.

Lathal didn't need these clues of habitation to see that the dwelling was occupied by a family. He could sense their Life, bright against the darkness. It leaked from between the shutters, from the keyhole of the door, and the cracks in the wall. It was torture for him, to be so close, and yet to be separated from the life he so craved.

A few shambling steps brought him to the door. With the strength of the Dead, he slammed against the door.

The sudden screams from inside only quickened his pace.