Uttuku The Books of Darkness by Robert N. Stephenson	Table of Contents
Chapter 21

We sat sipping coffee inside a small cafe up Jetty Road. Sarina, subdued, had said nothing for the last thirty minutes. I, on the other hand, had vented a little more. I didn’t yell but spoke in harsh words and tones. I told her we should tell the police about how Jacko died, and how we were being stalked by the man responsible.

Sarina just looked at the table top, her milkless coffee half drunk in front of her. The cafe was the usual by the sea setup. Fishnets on the walls, large plastic fish caught in the webbing. A series of long, glass counters ran from the door to the midpoint of the shop, with the back section a clutter of small tables and old wooden chairs.

Bacon and eggs, the usual specialty first thing in the morning, not only filled the air, but enticed me into having a serve myself, minus the fried tomato. Sarina ordered toasted muffins with blackberry jam. It was the first time I’d seen her actually eat a whole meal of something.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said, looking up from some spot on the table.

“I can’t see any reason to stay, Sarina.” A waitress took our plates. I also didn’t see the need to go either, but I wasn’t giving in, not just yet.

“I can protect you.” She went to reach across the table for my hand, but hesitated and returned her hands to her lap. “Together we will be able to work this out.”

“Then we have to be honest with each other,” I said.

Sarina bit her bottom lip. A trait I hadn’t seen before. Was this the Sarina beneath the Goth, the Uttuke I’d come to know?

“I know the name of the author of the book,” I said.

“Will I know him?”

“Name is Ferenc Dezsõ,” I said, watching her face for signs of recognition. Nothing.

“A contemporary author?” she asked.

“No, I haven’t been able to find him or any previous works,” this was getting difficult. “I was hoping you’d know him.”

“If we are to stop Orlando, we need that book, Diana.” Though calm, her words were deliberate. “You have to get it back.”

“Maybe if I’d told you about the book sooner, Jacko might still be alive.” Again, someone dead because of me.

“You could have died,” Sarina said. “If I’d known...” This time she did take my hand.

“Tell me what The Dark One really is,” I asked. I looked up into her eyes and into real concern. It was as if the Sarina of yesterday had slipped away to reveal the real woman.

“Not here. Back at my place.”

Maybe now my life will start making sense.

Once safely inside the dark well of Sarina’s world, she told me more about The Dark One, the one who has no name. He, as he has always been represented in the form of a male, has been in and part of the world since the dawn of time itself. Where there is light there is always darkness.

He was born of the primal fear of the night and the base fear of the unknown. He is a feeder on fear, on humans’ dark desires. He feeds because he can, not because he has to, or needs to. He need do little to remain present in the world, for he will always be with the world right up to its very end. Only he will remain, always remain.

This wasn’t the devil story I’d known as a kid. Satan, The Dark One from the bible was merely a poor representation of what he meant to the world.

Sarina sat beside me on the sofa as she spoke. I sensed that this wasn’t something she spoke about often. She used grave tones. Occasionally holding my hand and squeezing to make a point. The Dark One did not require power like the living; he did not survive for vengeance, lust or desire. He took what he could whenever he liked and nothing more. The fear of the darkness fed him; the primal instinct against night was a satisfaction.

But The Dark One did need to feed, and its hunger was immense. He did not take life itself, did not kill his victims. The Dark One only took their life energy and left behind a breathing shell of what the victim used to be. It took the darkness of their lives and left behind only emptiness: eternal nothing.

“Eventually the victims die,” Sarina said. The stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, the afternoon sun shielded by the heavy tinting. She touched the horse statue lightly. “Once the energy is gone the victims can’t feed themselves, they can’t do anything.”

“Like being in a coma,” I offered, not understanding what she meant.

“A coma is still a kind of life.” Sarina put her hands on the glass, leaning her head forward. “This is no life. Everything is gone. All that is left inside the victim is nothing. Even The Dark One is something.”

“But aren’t you also like him?” It was a fair question.

Sarina laughed, a sad sound. “Uttukes only take a piece of the energy, as you would understand, a tiny piece of the soul. Never enough to cause any harm, just what we need to exist. Maybe we are vampires of a sort. We feed on blood, even if it is only a few millilitres, and we live forever. I just happen to prefer the dark to daylight.”

“But you said you weren’t one.” I could feel her growing sadness. This was something hard for her to speak about. I wondered why she was telling me, if difficulties existed. She didn’t have to tell me.

“You have to understand, Diana, Uttukes preserve life, The Dark One decays it. The Dark One goes beyond what is known as death.” She turned and faced me. She went to say more, but remained silent.

“We know why it wants me.” I stood, she needed someone. “But why is he after you? I had to know. “Sarina, I might be able to help.”

She took both my hands, holding them down in front of her. We didn’t make eye contact. I felt if we did, the conversation would end. Too much honesty can be a strain on the heart, a real test on emotional makeup. I thought I was holding together well, but only because I was with her. I wondered what would happen if I were alone and had to think about all this.

The Dark One is an enemy of the Uttukes. He cannot take the life energy of a Uttuke and can be driven away by them. Sarina believed he wanted to try and take her energy. Somehow, she was, after all, one of the strongest of her kind. Such energy would feed The Dark One for decades. If this were to happen, he would be able to intensify the fear of the night, bring creatures to haunt the shadows. Not because it brought him joy or satisfaction, but because he could. Though not corruptible, he did populate as much dark space as possible with his presence. That was the nature of Darkness.

“The first Uttuke came out of Egypt,” Sarina said. Her hands felt cool, moist. “The Dark One took a Queen for a rare pleasure, using nightmares to hide his form. He thought she had died in the desert under the eye of the moon, but she hadn’t.”

Sarina sighed at recounting the legend. This might have been the first time she’d been through it for many, many years. I squeezed her fingers. I wanted her to continue. I’d look most of it up on the Internet later, but for now the story had me in its grip.

“On the outskirts of her town,Taru, Tiyi became the first Uttuke, part darkness, part light. It is said that her husband, Amenhotep III , loved her so much he didn’t notice that she never aged before she was killed. Her son, derelict in his duties, beheaded her and cast her into a fire pit. This isn’t known of that time,” Sarina said. “But before she died, she fed and converted some of her servants, who were later set free. From there we have spread.”

“That means there would be millions of you by now?” It wasn’t an unreasonable thought.

“After the first Uttuke Age, Alexander decreed that only conversion for love be allowed.” She now lifted my chin to stare into my face. “A world of immortals; think about that, Diana. We would have starved, become weak. The development of the human desire and discovery would have been snuffed out.”

“Who was Alexander?”

“A great Uttuke, who, because of love, died.”

“I don’t understand,” which wasn’t totally true. I stood before a beautiful woman who could live forever, but there existed a vital question. “How does an immortal die?”

“Are you thirsty?” she asked. “All this talking has given me a dry throat.”

“All this history has given me a sore head. I’ll go a double.” She left me to get drinks. I returned to the chair and sat. Sarina was opening up in a way. Still, the personal area was developing, but I felt comfortable learning about what she was, and felt relieved that Uttukes didn’t actually kill their meals. I wondered where in history Sarina came in.

She returned with two drinks. A scotch for me and a tall glass of Coke for her. She sat on the sofa, drawing her legs up under herself and leaning to her left on a cushion. I could smell the faint scent of roses, and I knew Sarina wasn’t wearing it.

“I want to read a copy of Steven’s book,” she said handing me a glass.

“I’ve got one at home, but I’m not going back to get it.”

“Understood,” she sat, elbows on knees. “There’s a store not far from here, we’ll go look there.” I didn’t like her chances. This was off the subject. Sarina wanted to distract me. Why?

“So, “ I started after a good drink. “How does an immortal die?”

“We aren’t truly immortal,” she said, turning the glass around between her fingers. “Provided we don’t sustain too serious an injury, we can live for as long as we like.”

“Like beheading?” I shuddered at the thought.

“Your wrist healed fast, remember?” I murmurred agreement. “Uttukes can heal very fast, my saliva from the bite healed you.” I rubbed my wrist. “If I am injured, it only takes a few minutes for my body to repair. Beheading isn’t, usually, a repairable injury.”

“But Eva?”

“The poison Adolph gave her would have imobilized her, but it would have been metabolized in twenty minutes. So that bastard burnt her; she couldn’t recover from that.”

“You know this sounds like a mix of every vampire movie I’ve seen.” I offered a smile; sipped my drink.

“Legends have their roots in truth somewhere along the line,” she said, raising her glass in a toast.

“To vampires,” I said.

“To finding the book.”

We browsed one of the shelves of a book store on Jetty Road. Sarina wanted to read Steven Opie’s book, to try and work out what was so important about its contents. The book was several years old, and because of the media scandal it would have been pulled by the publisher.

I’ve known a few booksellers in my time, and they are reluctant to give a book back if it stands a chance of earning some extra money through notoriety. The book wasn’t on the shelves, I expected this, and there was no point in asking the girl behind the counter, I doubted the lanky eighteen year-old would even know of Steven.

“Wait here,” I said, approaching the counter. The girl’s eyes brightened.

“You’re Diana Arlyn?”

“Hi,” I said. I should have known escaping my fame would be difficult in a bookstore. “Is the manager in?”

“Sorry, no,” the girl said. “But I can help you.” Her enthusiasm was charming.

“Do you have a copy of Me and Him by Steven Opie?” She wouldn’t know.

“That the guy you...” she paused. She did know. “No, Ms Arlyn, we don’t have any. A lady came in the other day and bought the last copy the manager kept out back.”

It was worth a try. Maybe a second-hand bookstore would be better. I found Sarina in the science fiction section. She was talking to a man with glasses. I recognized him.

“Sean,” I said, interrupting their conversation. He turned, like Sarina he wore all black, his head, shaven to leave a fine stubble on his scalp, and his small round glasses, gave him a serene modern look. Not very authorish.

“Diana. I haven’t seen you in an age.” Sean handed Sarina a book. “How have you been?” He kissed my cheek. About the only man I allowed this close.

“Do you know each other?” I asked.

“Just met,” Sean said. “But Sarina did say she was a good friend of yours.”

I thought I saw Sarina blush. Sarina held one of Sean Williams’ books. Geodesica. I had the series at home, he’d given them to me at a convention in Melbourne. I hadn’t read them yet, but the reviews had been good.

“Sean’s picked out a book for me to read,” Sarina said, sounding more like a dumb blonde than the person who’d sucked blood from my wrist. “He’s offered to sign it.” Why was she sounding all lipstick.

“What brings you down the bay?”

“Catching up with Shane,” he said. “Thought I’d drop in here and check out the clearance tables.” He smiled, a nice smile. Sean Williams might have been one of Australia’s biggest names in science fiction and fantasy; he was also one of the nicest men I’d ever met. Like me he’d shared a New York Times best seller list, only he’s won a Ditmar. This year might be my turn.

“Sean and I were talking about agents,” Sarina said, composure returning.

“Why?” I had one in the U.S. A real prick, but the contracts were good.

“Sarina says you are looking for one?” Sean gazed up at Sarina, a touch of confusion in his face.

“In the future you are going to need a discrete, small agent,” Sarina said. She caught my eye. I didn’t know the game, but I played. “Someone who could keep a secret, maybe.”

The only secret I had was standing right in front of me and I didn’t need an agent to hide the truth on the matter. Sarina was planing something else, had manouvered Sean into a position only she understood. I had no choice. If I needed a new agent, I needed a new agent. I’d find out why later.

“I know a guy,” Sean said. “He lives here, in Adelaide.”

“Well known?” Sarina had taken up my speaking parts.

“A little, but mainly in Australia, I think.”

“What do you know about him?”

“I think he represents all the profanity and profundity of living in a modern age,” he said. “Passion on his sleeve kind of guy.”

“Is that good?” Sarina asked.

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t have him any other way.” He took a pen out of his black shoulder bag and signed Sarina’s book. “I have to get going,” he said. “Just look up Altair Australia Literary Agency, ask for Bob.”

“Blackwood Bob?” My turn to join the conversation.

“Yea, you heard of him?”

“I think we met a couple of years back. Fat guy, speaks his mind.”

“And a bloody reactionary to boot.” He laughed, a free sound. “Gotta run ladies. Maybe see you at the NatCon, Diana?” he said, making his way through the shelves and out of the store.

Sarina took several other of Williams’ titles from the shelf. My gut said by the end of the day the covers would be black. Would she actually read them? I’d never seen her read before. I trailed her to the counter where the still beaming girl took payment for the books. On the way out I grabbed Sarina by the wrist.

“I hope you are going to explain what that was all about?”

“Later, much later,” she said.

Copyright © 2009 by Robert N. Stephenson

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