REMNANTS OF DARKNESS, by Eldrice
Standard Disclaimers Apply: Will Stanton, Bran Davies, Jane Drew, and the entire Dark is Rising universe belong solely tot he wonderful Susan Cooper.
A/N: I'm back, and so excited to have the time to devote to this story again! Not only have I updated, but I've started going back and doing lots of format revisions, so if you notice that some chapters have names and others don't, it's only temporary. From now on, chapter subdivisions will be in Roman numerals. There are also some heavy textual revisions to the first few chapters, but nothing truly affecting the story. And I guess some good news is my long hiatus has given me tons of good ideas for this story, which I can't wait to write. If you're out there and still reading, please review!
Reader Review Responses Below.
Chapter Fifteen: Friends Old and New.
"Education is simply the soul of a society as it passes from one generation to another."
- G.K. Chesteron
I.
Three dark figures scurried across the nighttime grounds of Thornhart Preparatory School. Samuel Nightshade led the small group up the icy cobblestone drive, scanning his flashlight left and right through the driving snow. The Davies children, heads bent against a rising wind, followed close upon his heels.
The old man kept up a steady stream of conversation as they walked, shouting to be heard over the wind.
"Spring term starts in about three weeks. Many of the boys are gone now, you understand, at home or traveling for the holidays. Still, there are always a few that stay, for some reason or another, and the headmaster insists they enroll in a winter term if they're present. A real shame, if you ask me. Boys need a longer vacation, especially during the Christmas season. But there's no arguing with Dr. Clay about. He's bound and determined to 'maintain reputation,' as he calls it."
"Uh, fantastic," Peter yelled back, burying his gloved hands in his armpits to keep them warm. "How long does winter term last?"
"Two weeks, but you're late. They started three days ago. Still, it will be a valuable opportunity for you to meet some of your classmates in. And you can be damn sure - er, 'darn' sure, excuse me - that she," he jerked his head in Annie's direction, "wouldn't be allowed to stay here, no matter what Mr. Lyon said, if it was normal term time."
"I'm very grateful," Annie said brightly.
"There's no reason for that," Nightshade laughed hoarsely. "There'll be little company for you here, aside from Natalie Cutter, and even less to keep you occupied during the days. Not what I would call an amusing vacation."
The conversation lagged, and they trudged on without saying more.
Peter took the opportunity to study the massive building they were approaching, just visible through the blowing snow. He knew it well enough by summer daylight as the Barry mansion, which belonged to some old man from Connecticut whom no one had ever seen. He had heard of other boys daring each other to spend the night inside, or to make their way high up into the attics. But he had never heard of anyone actually taking up the challenge, for the building was a dismal, crumbling place with an unpleasant aura about it.
But as Thornhart the mansion was drastically different. It was still dismal, but in a worn, well broken-in way that was almost cheerful. He could see smoke rising from several of the chimneys, and candles sat in every window. Christmas wreaths and lights abounded. The bushes were trimmed down into neat shapes, and not choking the walls with their encroaching tendrils. Peter could even see the flickering electric blue of a distant television through one window, which successfully dispelled any supernatural fears one could have had.
It was a breathing building, warm and living.
And then students began to die, Peter thought grimly.
He glanced at Annie and saw she was watching him anxiously over a scarf she had wrapped about her mouth. Their eyes met, and he knew she was wondering the exact same thing he was.
Peter sighed and wracked his brain. He didn't have much experience with this sort of thing, but he'd give it his best shot.
"So, uh, Mr. Nightshade," he began tentatively, "how was your Christmas?"
"Lovely, thank you. My wife gave me a charming red and blue-striped tie. It matches perfectly the orange and green socks she gave me last year."
"Do you have any New Year's plans?" He kept his voice carefully casual.
"Why, no, I don't. It's not my type of holiday. I prefer to spend it sitting on the couch with my feet up. Mrs. Nightshade feels the same way."
"But surely, you do something to celebrate? Next year should be very, er, interesting and - er, challenging."
Nightshade laughed. "Not when you're my age, boy. One year slips by pretty much like the rest. I see little reason to believe that 1973 will be any different from 1972."
A sharp intake of breath from Annie told him she had been listening carefully. Peter sighed in relief and didn't trouble himself with further conversation. He had discovered what he needed to know: he knew when they were.
No he only needed to know how and why.
They had reached the double front doors. Nightshade produced a large key, with which he opened one of the giant oak slabs. Although it must have been immensely heavy, the door swung silently open without so much as a whisper. Nightshade turned and ushered them both inside.
"Here you go, let's get in out of this nasty weather," he said, pulling the door shut as they walked through.
Peter stamped his boots to shake the snow off of them, and then looked about in awe. He reached out unconsciously, grasped Annie's shoulder, and pulled her close. They were in a massive foyer, with a double curving staircase before them and lush red carpeting beneath their feet. Aged portraits of elderly men lined the walls, and the place was lit softly by lamps that glistened gold. Although it was the dead of winter, colorful flowers bloomed in every direction he looked. It was easily the most sumptuous and intimidating place he had ever been.
"Pretty, ain't it?" Nightshade asked fondly, pulling his hat off and grinning at them. A high, wrinkled forehead was revealed, and his icy hair sprung out in all directions.
Peter and Annie nodded in stunned silence.
There was a soft whisper of feet upon carpet, and a young woman suddenly stood before them, having materialized out from among the shadows. Peter started at her sudden appearance.
"Are these the children we've been waiting for, Sam?" she asked cheerfully in a voice that sounded almost - but not quite - familiar.
"Yes, miss," Nightshade replied, somewhat shyly. "Peter and Annie Davies, newly arrived from England."
"Wonderful!" she exclaimed, looking them over in a friendly fashion. "I was worried they wouldn't make it tonight. And the winter term English teacher is safely arrived as well, so now everyone is well and accounted for."
Nightshade stared, and the two bushy eyebrows on his lined face came together to form one stern line. "What? How is that possible?" he asked sharply, all shyness gone. "I've been outside all night, and I saw no term teacher arrive."
"Maybe it's time you were getting glasses, Sam. I assure you, he's very much present. But if it makes you feel better, I think he came around to the back door, which may explain why you missed him."
Nightshade grumbled and stared at the floor. "In that case, I should be getting myself to bed."
"Do that. Get some rest. You deserve it after the long day you've had."
"Thank you, Miss Shirley." Nightshade turned to Peter and stuck his hand out. "Mr. Davies, I apologize once again, but it has been a pleasure meeting you." He reached out and patted Annie's black head in a manner that was somewhat hesitant, yet affectionate. "You too, Ms. Davies. Take care now."
"Thanks," Peter replied. "I will," Annie added.
Nightshade turned to his left and went through a small door in the wall. Peter watched him go nervously, feeling somewhat abandoned. He had liked the old man.
There was a brief moment of silence.
"Now then," the young woman said, turning to face them fully and clasping her hands before her. She had green eyes and bright red hair pulled loosely back into a bun. She was dressed in a tweed suit jacket and a skirt that came just to the top of her knees. A giant green bow was positioned just below her throat. "Let's get to know each other. My name is Ms. Shirley, and I am something of a headmistress/secretary here at Thornhart. Basically, I handle the living arrangements of the boys who board with us, as well as the menu and other similar matters. If either of you have any problems or questions while here with your rooms or if you require a special diet due to allergies, please come to me. Now, I already know your names, but I was hoping that you would be kind enough to give them to me yourselves." She looked at them in expectation.
"Well, my name is Peter."
"And I'm Annie."
"Wonderful. Two charming names. Excellent histories behind them both." A twinkle appeared in her somewhat roguish eyes, and she grinned, revealing suddenly just how young she was despite her mature manner. Scarcely over twenty-five, Peter realized. "And though I must insist that you call me 'Ms.' while here, I would still like to introduce myself properly this one time. I'm Madeleine Shirley.'
No, you're not, Peter thought wildly, recognition having finally come to him. You're Madeleine Reynolds, the widow who lives down the street from us in the grey house with the roses. And you taught my mother how to garden, and told us the story of three murdered boys. No wonder you knew the details so well.
"Now that that's over, we must take you to your rooms. Before we get you settled for the night, however, the headmaster should meet you. He's conferring with the new teacher at present, another late arrival. Follow me, please."
She turned sharply on one pointed heel, all business once again, and walked jauntily toward a hall that led off to the right.
Peter moved to follow, but a sharp tugging on his sleeve prevented him. Annie was holding back, grasping his jacket with both hands, and staring in horror at the direction Madeleine has taken. "Peter!" she whispered urgently. "That . . . that was -"
"Mrs. Reynolds, yes I know. Now come on!"
"But - she's so young!"
"Look, I don't know what's happening, but just play along for now, all right? Let's go."
Annie gulped and nodded silently. They hurried in the direction Madeleine had taken, the young woman's form visible just ahead of them.
Peter tried and failed to keep track of the many halls they went through. There was a left here, a right there, two staircases up, one down, another right, two lefts. Everything rushed by in a dizzying blur. He did notice that the school was a strange combination of the ancient and modern. Medieval tapestries hung next to colored photographs, and cheap modern furniture squatted upon Oriental rugs of the richest hues. Everything was illuminated by electric light, while dark chandeliers swooped down from high ceilings.
Ms. Shirley/Mrs. Reynolds finally stopped before a small wooden door. Peter's nostrils flared, and the warm, spicy smell of cedar tickled his nose. Madeleine turned the door handle and made a sign for the Davies to stay where they were. She slipped inside, and the children heard a light murmur of voices from within. Then she returned and stood aside, motioning for them to enter. "This is the rare book room," she whispered. "The headmaster is waiting inside for you."
"Thanks,' Peter said, stepping through the open door, Annie beside him. Madeleine followed after.
Glass cases glimmered along the side walls, behind which leather-bound books perched upon wooden stands. A long bookshelf ran the back length of the room, but a lattice barrier shielded the volumes it contained. One large table was stationed in the middle of the room, with twelve chairs positioned around it. Small reading lamps with green shades produced a gentle, illuminating glow. There was a lit fireplace in one wall, with two stuffed armchairs stationed before it.
"Hello, Mr. Davies." A tall, middle-aged man stepped forward from where he had stood beside the fireplace. He wore a dark suit, and a pair of glasses were tucked into his breast pocket. He had a thin mouth, and a shock of prematurely white hair fell over his forehead. The tall shoulders stooped forward somewhat, creating the impression of a puppet dangling upon strings.
"Peter," Ms. Shirley said, "this is Dr. Clay. He's your new headmaster."
"Hi," Peter said awkwardly. He didn't think his voice trembled.
Dr. Clay turned to Ms. Shirley. "Thank you for bringing them here, Madeleine. Would you please wait outside?"
"Yes, sir." She nodded and left the room. The door closed shut behind her with a soft click.
"Well, Peter and Annie," the man took a deep breath, peering at them in undisguised curiosity. "I trust you had a safe, if somewhat inconvenienced, journey?"
Peter was aware that at least one of his eyebrows had shot up in amused alarm. Safe journey? The idea was laughable. It had started when he punched his worst enemy, and then he had escaped his own thrashing by jumping some thirty years back in time, where a man had shaken the daylights out of him, and he had met the younger version of his neighbor who had been acting so strangely recently. Safe?
"We had some difficulty with the train, sir," Annie volunteered once she realized her brother was desperately trying to contain his nervous laughter and had no intention of answering such a ludicrous question. "There was snow on the tracks outside of Chicago."
"Chicago?" Dr. Clay asked in confusion. "But I had been informed you were traveling from Erie?"
Annie blanched and silently cursed Peter for not stepping in. " Uh, actually, yes, we did. It's just that . . . The snow in Chicago delayed the trains from there. Which meant we had to wait, and - "
Dr.Clay waved one hand in dismissal. "Enough said. The winter transportation woes of this state are well-documented. But while we're talking, Annie, let me remind you, as I have reminded your grandfather many times already, that we are expecting you to be on your best behavior while staying here." He looked at the girl with his chin tucked in and his hands clasped behind his back. "This is an unusual situation, understand, and you must rise to the occasion. Am I making myself clear?"
Peter watched his sister stare in affronted shock before a slight curl of her lip displayed the scorn she held for being addressed in what she considered such a disrespectful manner. He had to keep himself from grinning. Annie was intelligent beyond her years, of course, and it was always funny to watch her grow offended when adults treated her as if she were any other brat.
"Perfectly clear," she said stiffly, folding her arms and glaring.
Something in her voice must have conveyed her rage, for a look of mild surprise crossed Dr. Clay's face, followed by a look of grudging respect. "Very well," he said, almost apologetically. "I shall remember that I too must be on my best behavior. We want you giving your parents a favorable report of the school they have chosen for Peter when they return from Sweden."
"I'm sure she will," Peter said.
"Excellent. In that case, our substitute term teacher just arrived tonight as well. Somewhat late, but as we had to call him in on very short notice, it was only to be expected. It was expeditious to have you brought here while I conferred with him so that I could introduce you. I believe you are countrymen."
A second figure rose from the armchair stationed nearest to Peter, but which had been facing away from him so that he had not noticed before that it was occupied. The figure turned toward the children, and the firelight illuminated a pair of friendly blue-grey eyes in a round, complacent face.
Will! Peter almost cried out. He choked back the glad welcoming just in time, inhaled the wrong way, and then coughed violently.
"Hello," Will Stanton said pleasantly.
Annie flushed a deep crimson before succumbing to a sudden pallor. A small squeak escaped her as she sank to the floor. Peter, eager to hide the shock that must be apparent on his face from Dr. Clay, bent down to hover over her anxiously. She impatiently brushed him aside, but not before he saw the tears of relief in her eyes.
"Are you ill, Annie?" Dr. Clay asked helplessly, nervously wringing his hands, unsure what to do. Comforting homesick little girls was not something that had been in his job description. Even girls as unsettling as this one.
"No," Annie snapped, wiping at her cheeks. "I'm tired, that's all." She scrambled to her feet. Peter took a step back and watched her warily.
"I heard you say you had a long trip today," Will Stanton said politely, one corner of his mouth twitching. "I'm sorry if my sudden appearance frightened you."
Annie glared at him in petulant resentment. "I was not frightened!"
"Of course not. Pardon me."
Dr. Clay swiftly intervened before it could be discovered what words would have flown from Annie's angrily opened mouth. "Peter, this is Mr. Stanton. He's here only on a temporary basis, teaching our winter term English class. Our full-time teacher decided to squander his vacation on some trip he won to Aruba on a radio show." He sniffed in academic disdain.
"Hi," Peter said.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Peter. I'm sure we'll have ample opportunity to talk to each other while here."
Dr. Clay turned to Will. "Do we have any unfinished business, Mr. Stanton?"
"No, doctor. I believe we've discussed everything."
"In that case, I believe Madeleine has already showed you where you will be staying?"
"Yes. But before I go, may I just say that it has been a great honor to meet you, sir. I've heard only the most complimentary things about Thornhart. I'm looking forward to my time here."
"As am I, Mr. Stanton. I've been told your teaching techniques are somewhat . . . unorthodox. I look forward to seeing you in action."
Will nodded and smiled. He picked up a battered leather briefcase and walked to the door. He turned the handle and took one step out before turning back suddenly, as if he had forgotten something. "Oh, it was a pleasure to meet you as well, Peter. I'm sure I will be seeing you very soon in class." And he was gone.
Dr. Clay turned back to the Davies children. "Peter and Annie, if you would leave me now, Ms. Shirley is waiting to show you to your rooms. Peter, you will be with the other boys in the dorms, of course. Annie, you'll be staying next door to Ms. Shirley in a spare room. I wish you both goodnight."
"Goodnight," the children replied.
"Oh, and remember you will be starting class tomorrow, Peter. No rest for the wicked, as they say, eh? But I hope your next four years will be a time of great intellectual and spiritual growth. Thornhart does have a reputation for turning out only the finest, you know."
II.
Peter couldn't sleep. The dorm bunk was narrow and hard and perfectly situated to magnify the snores of the boy sleeping above him. He wished he knew the kid's name so he could give the bunk a good hard kick and hiss at him to be quiet. But everyone had already been sleeping when Ms. Shirley had ushered him into the room, and there had been no time for polite introductions.
He had been unable to talk to Annie after leaving the book room. Ms. Shirley had taken them in tow and dragged them cheerfully at a headlong pace through more dizzying Thornhart halls. The Davies had been able to exchange glances that could have been meaningful several times, but they didn't know enough to have something meaningful to convey. Peter had been able only to grimace and shrug at Annie's waggled eyebrows.
And now here he was, shivering in a cold dorm room at an all boy's boarding school with an impending rash of murders hanging over the place. Oh yeah, and all this was happening some fifteen years before he was even supposed to be born.
Peter had heard of things like this happening to other people. It was called insanity.
Then there was Will Stanton.
The Old One's sudden appearance that evening hadn't surprised Peter, not really. After all, the whole evening was only one crazy thing of many that had happened recently. And since all these crazy things were tied to Will Stanton in some manner, it was only right that he should have been there. Still, thinking about the whole situation was enough to make Peter's stomach flop over funnily.
He didn't even know how he himself had gotten here. He reached below the neck of the pajamas Ms. Shirley had thrust upon him and felt the chain and the leather thong lying against his chest. He still had the knife and the stone Will had given them. He felt the coldness of the stone and the warmth of the leather sheath against his bare skin. Clearly, something must have happened when he had touched the stone, but what? And how? And what about Stan? Why hadn't he come along for the ride? And what had he thought when skinny Davies simply vanished, leaving nothing more than a wisp of air in his clenched fist?
Peter crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the bunk above him in fierce contemplation.
But back to Will. How could his presence be explained? Were all Old Ones capable of jumping through time at will? After all, Peter really had no idea all old Will Stanton truly was. He could've been born hundreds of years ago, and then simply traveled forward through the centuries to grow up besides Bran Davies and Jane Drews. Maybe he had a Quantum Leap time machine. Maybe his real name was Scott Bakula. Maybe he was a giant alien bug who had stolen a human body in order to propagate his evil colonialist conquest of Earth and its denizens.
Davies, you really need to get some sleep.
Reader Review Responses:
GoldenRat: Wow, high praise! Thanks! blushes I don't think it's merited, but I'll do my best to live up to it!
sasori: Yay, another Jane/Bran shipper! We are a rare breed, aren't we? Strange, isn't it, considering it's such a rational position? Anyway, thanks for reading!