The Second Life and Adventures of Benjamin Finn:
Chapter 11: In Which the Darkness Brings Too Much to Light
It was vastly apparent as I stood in that unnerving silence and oppressive heat that I had never before appreciated the magnitude of what Wren and Walter must have faced that fateful day in Shadelight, during which I had found myself a victim of circumstances which left me – to my everlasting regret – rent from their sides. And though I recalled with unfortunate clarity the shadow of fear that had never through the rest of his days left Walter's feature, and having witnessed the final battle between Albion's Queen and the same indomitable man that the Crawler had reduced to a living puppet, I had of course never been of the false assumption that it had been a simple thing to endure, or that the lasting scars of their time in those ruins were not permanently engraved upon Wren's soul. Yet it was one matter to believe I possessed an understanding of the gravity of that experience, and quite another to stand before the ominous entrance to the Crawler's temple and watch a woman the world considered insurmountable physically balk at the very notion of stepping foot into that place once more, where only moments ago she had been the very pinnacle of determination.
My mind scrambled in earnest effort to discern a way of keeping this cherished creature out of the temple and away from the monstrosity that would pursue her once we had dispatched its present host, though every argument I could conjure would have easily been thwarted by reason or common sense; I'd admittedly never been one for negotiations or strategies. Yet I was overwhelmingly compelled to put forth an effort, meager though it may be, and therefore found words spilling from my lips before a unified thought could take shape within my mind.
"Look," I began, gesturing apathetically towards the temple I felt only a strong apprehension for. "this can't be easy for you, I'd wager, so if you-" My offer was no sooner implied than that obvious fear was smothered by a regal composure she could apply to her face as easily as her rouge, and I was graced with one of her gentler smiles that never ceased to stop my breath, not even here, in this place.
"There's no need for that." She murmured with downcast eyes and a slow shake of her head. "I appreciate what you're doing. I know I must not be a very confidence-inspiring figure right now and I'm sorry for that. But I swear I won't let you down in there."
The notion of Wren failing me in any way imaginable would have been laughable if not for the shame that washed over me at the insinuation that I was somehow worthy of placing expectations upon her to which she was compelled to live up to; not after I had proven myself undeserving of her attempts repeatedly and in the cruelest of ways.
Still, this was neither the time nor the place for that conversation.
"I never thought you would, pal," I murmured instead, trying my damnedest to bury the ache that was suddenly growing exponentially within my chest and failing in the process, "not even once."
"Good," the weak smile upon her lips grew in earnest from some hidden store of strength, undoubtedly for my benefit, "I can do this. It was just… seeing this place again; it caught me off guard for a moment. I'm fine now. Honestly."
"Look, I know you say that you can do this, and I believe you. I do. But-"
"They have my mother, Ben," that gentle smile faded out of existence and my companion's insistence was delivered in a voice a touch too gentle and bordering on morose as she reached out to rest fingertips to my heavily bandaged arm, clad beneath the fresh shirt and vest conferred upon me by Morris after the man finally took note of the ruined state of my former garb, "what would you do if it was your mother? Would you just stand here and wait for someone else to save her from becoming something so terrible? Would you abandon her to that fate?"
My argument lost, I frantically began to weigh the idea of my last known and most desperate strategy; telling her the truth despite Theresa's proclamations. For Wren's certainty bore with it what must have been an equally damning finality as that of Theresa's visions, and it was only fear of Wren's reaction and the disastrous foreseen consequences that stayed my tongue and kept me to the blind gypsy's warnings. Still, if Wren faced the Crawler it would overtake her in the end, having already perfected the art of conquering those of her paternal bloodline, and if that happened there was nothing within my power that could be done to save her; and it was an absolute certainty that I would rather take my chances and face the demon alone than risk having to bear arms against her.
Regrettably though, Wren had little to no doubt of what her next course of action should be, and was striding into the abysmal temple before I was able to pry my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
XXXX
Still brooding fretfully over the wisdom of confessing every detail of my private exchanges with the seer to the one woman who deserved the truth more than any, we had made it not more than fifty paces into Shadelight's entryway when Wren stopped short in front of me and, sidestepping her to confirm what dangers we faced, I found my present line of thought abandoned if only temporarily.
It was easy enough to deduce the cult's fate when we stumbled across that first body; the man's mouth open in a tortured – now silent – scream he had obviously carried over into death. The claw marks bloodying his eyelids and cheeks had been wrought by his own hands, as was apparent by the skin and blood caked beneath his nails, and adding further to the impression that death could not have come soon enough for this one.
"Makes you wonder what they expected," I muttered, unable to muster even the briefest spark of sympathy for the corpse at our feet as I reached for a torch and striker, noting that the weak light sifting through the dust from the entrance faded into smothering blackness just ahead. "Did they really think the incarnation of darkness was going to play nice with them? We shouldn't separate. Let me get this going; then stay where I can see you, alright?"
Wren, however, seemed not to notice my observation or request for cooperation; her gaze focused with single-minded attention upon a shadow-swathed point deeper within the ruins. It was only when I paused my prating long enough to think to question her silence that I understood what held her attention so completely. From somewhere in the blackness the sounds of whimpering, like that of a wounded dog, echoed distantly against the stonework, and to my knowledge only one canine had wandered these sands during our lifetime, let alone stepped foot within this accursed place.
The torch I had taken to with my striker, having no ability to conjure ethereal flames personally, flared in my grip and luckily so, for Wren was immediately and predictably speeding through the darkness towards the wretched sound. If any trace of her previous anxiety remained it was lost; buried beneath a sense of urgency that would drive her onward no matter the danger.
"Blast! What did you not understand about 'where I can see you'?!" She might have ignored my call had the light of my guttering torch not thrown wild shadows against sand colored walls and pavers as I raced to catch her up, the acrid-smelling flame threatening to die out at any moment and blind us completely; and even at this she only slowed to a quick trot.
The whimpering was not that of a dog as I had imagined it to be, but a woman, seated in a tight ball upon the sand encrusted floor. Her facial tattoos and permanently tanned features identified her as Auroran, yet the black robes and dark tattoo upon the webbing between her thumb and forefinger marked her for the cult we hunted. Wild, sightless eyes peered out of her cowl in horror, shadowed so deeply even in the torchlight it was clear she'd been touched by the darkness.
"What happened here?" Wren demanded through thickly-veiled relief, crouching down to stare into the eyes of the dazed creature while at my queen's back I drew Briar's Blaster, ready to end the perfidious fanatic if she as much as twitched towards the subject of my newly acquired overprotective tendencies.
"Forgive me Master," the dark woman whimpered woefully, rocking back and forth in a speed far too emphatic to be considered soothing by anyone. "Forgive us; we did not mean to fail you."
"Fail? What are you saying? How did you fail?" Hope flared briefly in Wren's expression, an optimism that I could not bring myself to share; the apprehensive tingle still running through my spine and Theresa's warning still so much a knot of trepidation in the pit of my stomach.
"It can still be done," a smile twisted with obvious insanity split the cultist's face, her teeth gleaming brilliantly in contrast to the stark shadows which filled the hollows above her cheekbones. "Yes… yes it can still be done. All will be well again, you shall see."
"She's a nutter, Wren." I mumbled, comprehending at last that this madwoman wasn't speaking to us; more than likely she wasn't even aware we stood before her, for the dark stains circling her eyes spoke volumes about the truth of the state of things – more so than this creature's ravings. Recognizing that pulling any information of value from this traitor would be nearly impossible, I for one was more inclined to simply press on and put a bullet into anything that moved with my companion being the only exception, yet my opinion was met with an absent wave of dismissal; Wren's attention focused nearly entirely on the huddled mass crouched at her knees.
"Bring her before you, Master," the lunatic crooned on without hesitating to acknowledge our queries or statements, her rocking just as vigorous as it had been from the moment we had discovered her, yet where there had once been fear now clever scheming painted her features as her beleaguered mind began to churn once more. "She would come, oh yes. The daughter has strings that would pull her. Pretty dark-skinned mayor. Pretty soldier-man."
Gooseflesh prickled my skin and lifted the hairs upon the back of my neck, redoubling that ever-present tingle that warned of forthcoming danger, as if Wren's alarmed eyes upon me would have somehow been insufficient. While I had never in my life been called 'pretty', even if I had been more than appropriately confident of my appeal to the fairer sex, I had no doubt that I was the soldier this lost soul spoke of, and deduction reasoned that only Page could be the 'dark-skinned mayor'. It was conceivable that this 'daughter' the woman spoke of was Kalin – who had been the daughter of Aurora's previous head and now by rights was its new leader – possible, yet not probable. Kalin had fought the Crawler with us to be certain, but it was Wren who had been the one to lead us into battle; had been the subject of Theresa's warning of this fateful day we had at last come to.
Whatever this cultist who had fallen from her master's grace was trying to do to place herself back in the monstrosity's good standing, drawing the Hero Queen of Albion here was the key to that plan, and I had a very strong suspicion of what 'whatever' entailed.
The time to send Wren off had come all too abruptly, I realized. "Hey pal, listen to me-"
"Pretty daughter would come if we pulled her strings. Pretty daughter would follow…"
Wren was also reaching the limits of her patience with the sinister creature, apparently, and reached out with one hand to grip the woman's jaw between hard fingers. "Why do you need the pretty daughter?" Having obviously deduced who the 'pretty daughter' was as well, Wren was clearly in no mood to humor this creature any longer. Nor was I for that matter, and silently I lifted Briar's Blaster to take aim at one of those sightless black pits marring the cultist's face, debating on the wisdom of shooting her now before she could utter another word, if only Wren would release her grip on the woman and remove herself from harm's way.
"Wren-"
"My mother was stronger." Wren kept on despite my entreated attempt, instead pulling that terrifying face closer to her own so that those darkened eyes could not avoid gaping at her. "So why do you need me?" The madwoman blinked within those shadowed recesses; seemingly as confused with Wren's presence as she was that Wren would have to ask a question that possessed such an obvious answer.
"Master wants the daughter." She whimpered in acknowledgement at last, a glimmer of her preceding fear seeping back into her voice and features alongside the confusion as she seemed to decide that she was displeasing the one she spoke with, and in doing so displeasing her 'master'. "The daughter is the same…"
"If I am the same why does it need me when it already has mother?" Wren argued, shaking the woman's chin with growing hostility.
"But Master does not want the mother - did not have the mother." The doleful creature moaned haplessly, trying to resume her mad rocking and yet unable to move beyond the stone-like grip my companion had upon her chin. "Master had the father. The father, not the mother. The mother does not please Master; brittle corpse of rot and decay…" the description of Wren's mother was spoken with an instant disdain which bordered on open repugnance, "Master wants the daughter – has always wanted the daughter. We-" the maddened expression transformed once more into that of sorrowful penitence, "we did not understand Master's desires. Our listeners could not understand Master's words. It was always the daughter, we see now. Warm flesh and fresh power and the same blood… so sweet, so easy to take. So like the father, already so well-known and comfortable."
I was thereby overcome with the exigent desire to take hold of Wren and physically drag her back into the daylight; to place that overdue bullet into the radical's eye and be done with her ramblings, but it was too late for any action that would retract the damage which had just been wrought, for Wren's scowl was dark, her expression thoughtful.
"The father? No. The Crawler had Walter. Wh-" Sparkling eyes rose to mine and whatever expression I had failed to hide brought on a shock to hers that she did not bother to disguise. "What is it?" The whisper was skeptical, and yet at the same time utterly aware.
It was too late to lie or feign ignorance, I understood, lowering my pistol with a heart sickening dread. Wren knew, even if she did not yet fully comprehend what it was she had realized; she knew that I had knowledge she did not, and had withheld it from her intentionally. Keeping Theresa's secrets from her now was no longer possible, and with a deep, shuddering breath I gave in to the inevitable, more fearful now than I had been upon discovering my hand inside the jaws of a balverine.
"Theresa told me," I admitted guiltily, unable to meet Wren's eyes in those first moments. "I… she said if you knew now we would fail. I was going to make her tell you – or tell you myself when this was all over – I swear it. Especially now that Walter isn't – Balls. Lord Eugene… wasn't your father. Walter was."
"Walter?" Wren's gaze slipped down to the mumbling fool still gripped between her fingers and for a moment I found myself concerned that she had also slipped into idiocy for the vacant stare her eyes held. "Walter?" The nutter went on again as though she never heard Wren's inquiry, and still Wren fought for a stable foundation upon which to lay this latest revelation. "Walter was my father?"
"The father…" the damned creature hunched before her mewled, her head bobbing in acquiescence as she rocked, lending to the impression that she might topple over at any moment, "the father and the daughter…"
"Wren?" I reached down to rest a hand upon her shoulder, hoping to draw her mind back to the here and now of things. "Look, I can't begin to understand-"
"Understand?" Wren barked, awareness returning to her like the crack of a whip, and no less violently as she ripped free of my grasp. "What is there to understand? My mentor – my best friend – was my father! And I butchered him! Because it was easier than trying to save him!"
"Be reasonable – you didn't have much of a choice! You-" The words choked in my throat like splintered wood beneath the skin; for two years ago she had indeed been given no choice but to kill Walter if she was to save Albion.
And had Theresa not told me just two short days ago that I'd be the next to make such a choice?
No. Never. I couldn't…
…could I?
What if it did in fact come down to Wren's death or watching all of Albion suffer and die at her hand? Would Wren begrudge me in her eternal damnation for allowing her to succumb to such a fate?
"What would you do if it was your mother? Would you just stand here and wait for someone else to save her from becoming something so terrible? Would you abandon her to that fate?"
What if it wasn't my mother – what if it was Wren?
Could I?
"He knew it, didn't he?" Wren's ravings grew increasingly hysterical, her eyes glassier with every word she spoke. "Why else could I do no wrong in his eyes? Why else was he always telling me how proud he was of me – risking everything to save me? He knew! Bloody hell, my father loved me and I murdered him!"
In my abhorrence with myself for my uncertainty, and for compounding a guilt I knew already riddled her soul and haunted her dreams, I lashed out at the one person who deserved my wrath the least.
"Look, what's done is done and you can't change it. So you can either sit here and wallow if you think it will help, or you can get up off your ass and make Walter's death mean something!"
I had no answers, of course; nothing that would absolve her guilt and provide fresh insight on how to view such an abhorrent act as anything less than the tragedy it was. I had no better option laying at my feet this moment, for that matter, and now that option began to seem all the more real to me; a fact that had me wishing I had eaten something recently, so that I could retch it up, the urge to gag barely stifled as I clenched my teeth in misdirected hostility.
Wren however seemed able to glean something useful from my outburst for, after a short interval of pinching her eyes behind gloved fingers as she struggled for composure, she nodded and rose to her feet; her face tightening in a supreme effort to master herself before finally succeeding. For a silent moment she peered down at the madwoman still huddled upon the stone floor muttering supplications to her accursed deity.
"Let's go," my companion murmured at last in a voice fissured from her residual despair, stepping deeper into the shadows, "I can't do anything worse to that one then what's already been done."
I was overcome with the desire to draw my heart's treasure to me, to repair the pain my confession had laid upon her either through embrace or by letting her bestow upon me a sound and bloody thrashing I was not altogether convinced I did not deserve, yet to do so would have undoubtedly unmade the carefully constructed self-possession she had adapted once more, and it was vitally important she be allowed to maintain her grasp on reason, especially here of all places.
With a final look at the creature beside me a surge of hatred for the thing and the disaster she had bequeathed us welled within me, and without pausing to consider my actions further I lifted Briar's Blaster once more, releasing the deafening crack of gunfire into the corridor that sent the mad figure crumpling to the ground at my boots; Wren gauging me with a quizzical stare whilst I returned pistol to holster. "Maybe you couldn't do worse, but she'd have if given half a chance," I muttered and waited for Wren to tip her head in agreement before I finally moved further into the ruin on the heels of the strongest person I'd ever known, Heroic status notwithstanding.
XXXX
As we ventured deeper into the bowels of the wayward shrine we found the stone floor littered with fresh corpses; dozens of them, all contorted as the first and in some cases crawling with skittering black insects that made us shudder in revulsion as we passed, providing the same impression that the final moments of these conspirators had been a hellish nightmare which only death could have saved them from. At the very least, it appeared that Page's concerns about finding resistance with the Crawler's sycophants were put to rest.
"Seems I might have done that nutter a favor after all." I murmured, n sot at the front was the lucky one,"al moments had been an agony I for one was grateful not to know.
instantly regretting the statement for the way my voice reverberated against the stone walls like the claxon toll of bells, and for what it must have implied about Walter's final moments of life. Thankfully if Wren made the connection she held her tongue, barely affording one particular gruesome scene of scarab carnage an absent glance as we passed them and only pausing at junctions in which she needed to stop and peer about as she attempted to recall the way to what she called the Crawler's room. It was not so much a long walk as it was tedious and nerve rattling. Wind hissed through the sand blanketing the paths, creating the impression of a dry voice whispering unintelligibly to us from within the gloom. It was enough to restore the gooseflesh to my skin at I began to fear that I was allowing my imagination to run wild when I distinctly heard my name in the rasping breeze, only to see Wren twist and peer at me through terror filled eyes.
"Have I spoken your name since we came in here?" She whispered urgently and, aware that I had not been imagining things in my unease with this place, I struggled to recall our earlier exchange as the wind hissed through the sands once again, this time sighing my surname as well and setting my spine aflame with the warning of danger. My pistol was clenched in a white-knuckled grip before I registered that I had extracted it from the holster once again; my gauntlet whirling with energies waiting to be expelled in the name of self-preservation.
"It's in our heads," Wren's voice quavered in unabashed fear, her eyes rolling wildly about; one hand conjuring a fireball large enough to set herself ablaze if she did not maintain proper control, the other hand stirring winds that sent sparks from her flame gauntlet sizzling and her stray hairs whipping into a frenzy about her face.
"Easy pal," I murmured, setting a steadier hand upon her shoulder than I would have thought I could possess at that moment. "You knew this was coming, right? We -" Recognizing immediately the opportunity I was being presented with, and never having been one to pass on the chance to capitalize on a situation when the odds were so heavily weighing in my favor, I pushed my luck with a long-suffering sigh. "Look. If you want to turn back now, pal, just say the word."
Silver eyes gleamed at me in near panic, and it was clear to me that all it would take would be the proper motivation to set her running for the entrance without a backward glance. "Are you saying we turn and leave?"
A steadying breath was required as I listened to the sands call for me repeatedly in the blackness beyond our feeble torchlight. It was a game to this creature; a ploy to force me into abandoning Wren to its devices, I was certain. "Get out of here. I'll go on myself. I can do this; we both know it's you the thing is really after."
"This has nothing to do with who it wants," she whispered in turn, her expression cooling to something that, while still fearful, now possessed a degree of certainty she'd not held only a moment ago. "I'll not leave you here to face it alone. Not you. Not ever. I'm going with you."
The corridors sighed for me again and from all approaches, presently indiscernible words surrounding my name that I was certain I would soon be fervently longing I still could not understand; the temptation to turn and flee gripped me soundly for the first time in so long that the sensation nearly paralyzed me; for never in my life had I balked from any obstacle, no matter how suicidal holding my ground might have been. It was only when I realized that even if we retreated now, sooner or later the creature would come for Wren, that I found the strength to hold fast. The mad fanatic at the entrance to the temple had said it plainly enough; the Crawler wanted Wren, and Wren alone. Someday it would come for her, and perhaps then it would be stronger. Perhaps only now would I be strong enough to defeat the fiend.
No, there was no better time than the present, I knew. Only one puzzle remained: how to safeguard the object of my adoration once the Crawler had been brought to heel?
Never one for successful forethought or planning, I understood then that no amount of ruminating would find me the answer I so desperately sought. True to my nature and general run of luck, it would be through impulse and actions alone that I would find her salvation…
…If I was fortunate to find it at all.
With a tip of my head I gestured towards the sightless corridors before us and suppressed a shiver as a cackle that could have come from dried leaves once more called for me.
"Together then."
XXXX
This took forever, one month and seventeen days too long to post. And I have no better excuse than one of my two usual fall backs: life got in the way. I had wanted to include more action, but looking forward that would have made this chapter far too long. Then again, it's just like the Crawler to screw with your head before he kills you. Right? ;o)