The earth was trembling. The blocks of ancient stone stacked one on top of the other on the walls of the Clour Tower castle seemed to want to crumble into piles of ruins.
Darcy moved carefully placing one foot in front of the other, descending the few stable steps, entering the dark dungeons with the only help of her sight.
She had consumed much of her energy a few minutes ago, and she didn't want to waste more, in expectation of what would happen in a few hours.
She didn't have enough energy left to levitate and she preferred to move on her feet. Moreover, the unconscious body she was carrying, lifted into the air with a weak and tired spell, was a rather heavy burden.
The wet earth outside spewed out revolting creatures crawling across the dead grass and climbing up to the castle's dark pilasters.
The smoke-black clouds that covered the border mountains were the background of horrendous beings with slashed, bloody mouths and moving rat tails.
The ground crushed under the footsteps of the stone giants, as well as the shells of a few wretched creatures that had come across the path of the headless monsters.
The black muddy drops of rain fell to the ground taking the shape of creepy worms.
The dark army had been formed, and it was preparing to march to the place of devastation, only awaiting the orders of its creators.
There was no more time to waste.
Walking forward into the darkness, Darcy stopped in front of the dungeons' gate and she unlocked it with a psychic spell. She pushed the heavy black iron with rusty scabs, which screeched across the cracked, uneven stone floor.
She was careful not to injure her hands and went through the gate, that was opened and closed since ancient times with no keys, but just with black magic spells.
A moan made her think that the boy was about to wake up, and she hurried faster in the dark corridor. The dirt that emerged from the cracks in the floor stained her black shoes and the hem of her pants, and the smell of stale and dead vegetation went through her nose, but didn't distract her.
She had only one task: to get rid of the boy as quickly as possible, before her older sister summoned her once she was ready to leave.
Another moan startled her and she actually found that his wrists and ankles had not been tied. Haste hadn't allowed her to take care of it, and perhaps she had not wanted to waste more time. The combined attack had made him unconscious, but perhaps his resistance had been underestimated.
His only weapon had been destroyed, but she didn't really know if he had any others with him, perhaps hidden in his specialist uniform.
She had to hurry before Riven regained consciousness and strength enough to attack her by surprise and then flee, before she could even appeal to her weakened reflexes.
She reached the door of the last cell and opened it, dragging the boy's suspended body into it.
She ignored the desperate voice of the former headmistress who, from the next cell, begged her not to harm him, threatening her, unaware that she no longer had weapons or authority.
She never gives up, she thought, if she really hopes to get my pity. She hasn't achieved anything in all these years, she won't get anything this time either.
Darcy laid the boy down with not too much care, as if to get rid of a puppet, next to the back wall, from which the reflected light of the moon came through the row of windows upstairs.
The collision with the cold floor woke the boy up, and he narrowed his eyes without being able to focus his view. He could barely perceive the nervous and quick movements of the witch who in the meantime grabbed his wrists and ankles and locked them in four strong bolts.
Her hands were trembling, like those of a thief caught in the act, and prisoner of the limbo of his own conscience, in which he is presented with the possibility of escaping and the painful one of confessing the crime.
No one ever talked about hurting him. I would have already done that if I wanted to.
There was no time, she repeated to herself, and at the same time she wondered why she had agreed to take on that work. Yet no one had forced her to do it, it had come naturally, as it was natural for her to take responsibility for her actions, at least most of the time.
Icy had been clear about it. No second thoughts. No mercy. Make sure her tracks get lost, tie him up and make him harmless. A quick and painless task.
We don't need him anymore.
Shaking his head, Riven saw familiar shades of color, and inhaling the air with difficulty, he seemed to recognize, in the smell of metal and damp stone, a particular perfume.
Then the memory came to him, at times. The storm, the nauseating smell in the air, the rush to drop out of school.
He had quickly put a book in his backpack and had rode the windbike to Cloud Tower, certain that he woul've found the usual welcome. The book was for Darcy. It had been on his bedside table for weeks, and he wanted to return it to her.
Darcy felt the humidity seep into the soles of her shoes and stiffen her limbs, that were shaked by the thrills of adrenaline.
The last memory of the blinding light of the attack, came with a brief pain in his head, and Riven tried to get up to clarify where he was. But he realized that his mind and body barely responded, both stunned by the negative power of witch magic.
It was too late, and his hands and feet were already tied. The feeling of captivity stirred such anger that he feared he would go insane.
When he finally recognized the figure kneeling before him, humiliation blinded him.
-You ...- came out of his lips.
-Shh.- Darcy exhaled, violently, stopping a new curse.
Riven could only make her understand his thoughts with his eyes. Traitor.
That and other words swirled in her head, just enough to make her understand that the boy was trying to attack her with the only weapon left: his mind.
There was no time left. Darcy appealed to her will to dispel those confused and resentful thoughts. Icy would show up at any moment, and she would have to justify her delay.
Her sister would never hear excuses. The stakes were too high to afford any distractions.
Darcy looked the boy in the eye, knowing it wouldn't be the last time.
Ehs put her hand to his livid, angry face.
-I'm sorry- she said, fighting against her voice that, against her will, came out broken. -I have to.-
She moved her hand to the boy's forehead, releasing the spell and watching his eyes go out in a state of unconsciousness, deep enough to allow her to finish the task.
Riven dropped his fists on the cold floor, closed his eyelids and abandoned his body against the dark wall of the cell.
His mind, sedated, stopped producing thoughts, until all that the witch could perceive was dead silence.
Darcy stayed where she was, crushed by the weight of her conscience.
Outside, the storm had started again, and the roar of thunders was mingling with the menacing footsteps of the red-eyed soldiers with a hundred tongues, beating time like a slow, sinister tick.
She removed her hand from the boy's face, while, turning her head to the ground, she abandoned herself to a cry full of remorse, regardless of what the world around her might think. Despite what her sister constantly had to reproach her with, despite her mockery, there was nothing she could do about it but accepting that painful little side of her nature. The human side, too human for a witch.
But there was no more time.
She forced herself to get up shortly after and return to where she was needed, leaving those few tears down there, on the cold stone, to be forgotten, along with her regret.