Uttuku

The Books of Darkness

by Robert N. Stephenson

Chapter 38

part 2 of 2

“No, not yet, not yet.” Her voice was so soft I almost didn’t hear her.

I touched the back of her hand, stopping the stroking down on Marie’s fingers. She felt cold. I tried to ease the dead woman’s hand from her grasp, but she wouldn’t let go. I don’t know what she expected the ashes of a dead man to do. Was this another legend she’d heard and had to try? Not all legends were based on truth. I only had to think about Bela to know that.

I returned to the chair, my backside ached. I’d sit here all night and all the next day if I had to. I wouldn’t leave her side, not now. And as I thought about it. Not ever.

“I don’t feel so good,” I heard Marie say.

“Marie, Marie,” Sarina cried. “You’re alive.”

I fell to my knees, not sure of which god to thank, if any. Sarina looked at me, face wet, eyes red weals, hair matted. She smiled with lifting grief.

“Diana?” Marie asked.

“I’m here,” I said moving to her side. Sarina put an arm about my shoulders. “You have to do it,” Marie said. “You have to.” Her eyes closed. She’d drifted into sleep. I sat and watched the rise and fall of her chest. Watched a miracle.

Sarina and I retired to the front room. We cried until morning, holding each other, fighting away the crossed emotion of grief and joy.

“Now you know why I have the horse,” Sarina said, as the first rays of the sun broke through the night. “This is the secret.”

“Does The Dark One know?”

“Only I know, well the three of us know. It’s why I can’t give it back.”

We sat together on the sofa watching the sun spread across the sky. A new dawn in so many ways. I looked down the hallway, the yellow room, the white lights.

“That room?” I said.

“My escape. A secret place where I keep things of a more private nature.”

“But yellow?”

“Yellow is only another form of black,” she said. “It is one of your colours as well, if my thinking is correct.”

I understood my yellow, had lived with it and taken medication for it. Sarina’s yellow, the brighter side of black, did it mean the same as mine?

“Mine is depression,” I said.

“I have a yellow dog,” she said. I hadn’t known.

“The painting of sunflowers?” I’d seen one like it in the mental institution.

“Van Gogh,” she said, “an original.”

“How?”

“Dr. Gachet, one of his doctors was a Uttuke. After Vincent’s death he had a lesser artist paint a copy, and he kept the original. Gachet gave me the painting shortly before his own death by The Dark One. I’ve kept it ever since. If only Gachet knew what I knew now. Vincent might have been saved.”

“Didn’t he commit suicide?” I didn’t know art, or artists, but the sunflower was synonymous with depression.

“A sad story, Diana, and I don’t want to tell it now,” she said, sounding tired. “Another time, maybe.”

We shared far, far more than I realized. For some reason this shared view of the world made a difference that went beyond love. She really did know what it was to be on the dark side, the human dark side.

I let the quiet of the room, the sounds of our breathing settle emotions and thoughts. At every turn there had been a surprise, a shock just waiting to jump on my face, mess with my head. From the initial doubts and fears, the constant confrontations, I felt stronger and closer to anyone I’d ever felt before. I wasn’t alone. Despite what happened in my brain, despite the mania that gripped me from time to time, I wasn’t alone.

“How did you really get that horse?” I eased myself out of the chair and headed to the kitchen. I needed a drink. Sarina followed.

“I starved myself to get it,” she said, pulling out a chair. “I’d heard about it while in Austria. A Uttuke still in the Royal family told me about it before he fled the country.” She rubbed her face, tiredness and hours of grieving were taking their toll. “I followed Marie to France for her wedding and hoped to find the Uttuke again. He’d disappeared. Communications back then were nothing like what we have now.”

“So that’s the Austrian connection?” I didn’t feel too alive myself.

“Part of it, I suppose,” she said. “Marie and I returned at the end of the 1800s, after many years in Asia. Marie didn’t know about the horse and its powers of healing, but I did. It was Bela who came up with the idea of starving myself and getting close to the darkness. He was sure The Dark One kept it close by. A gloating symbol of our futility.” She slumped forward onto the table. “I didn’t question how Bela knew, I just thought it was a good guess. It wasn’t until later I suspected he’d done some kind of deal with him and the horse, a guarantee that The Dark One would honour his end.”

“All this took place in Austria?” I knew there were links, but why?

Sarina ignored the question. I would have to find what it meant by myself. Something joined everything together. Was it still in Austria? Right now the important object, the horse, needed more explanation. The Dark One didn’t know what it represented, didn’t know its power and I didn’t know what the hell I’d just witnessed. Marie had been dead, stone cold, empty-eyed, life gone kind of dead. Now she slept in the yellow room as if she’d overcome a bout of the flu.

“So how does the ash work?” How could ash resurrect the dead?

Sarina sat up, rubbed her face, the questioning dragging her back from sleep. “Alexander,” she sighed, “despite the darkness he brought to others, was a gleaming light, a brightness we Uttukes could aspire to. The ashes are the essence of this light; his light. The life light.”

The explanation came between yawns, a tired voice mumbling over legend like a honey over fresh bread. By applying the ash to the eyes of a Uttuke who has dropped into the pit of The Dark One, it became possible for them to use this light to find their way back, escape from the darkness. The only problem was that it had to be applied soon after death. The longer in the pit, the harder it was to leave.

The light is only temporary, a brief glimmer. Sarina had only used it once before. A Uttuke in England had stepped too close to the dark, fed from a Ta’ibah by mistake. Only then the Ta’ibah had taken him, making the resurrection easier. Ta’ibahs could only take you to the edge of the pit; only The Dark One could thrust you into its depths. Sarina spoke for a long time, sharing a secret she had kept since discovering what the horse meant.

I helped her up, and steered her to bed, where she dropped.

“The roses?”

“Bela, he’s been sending them for years.” She closed her eyes. “Use to get them on my human birthday, but after his death I started getting them once a month.” She stared up at me, eyes vacant. “As a Ta’ibah he wouldn’t remember something like that, so I’m guessing he is using the cycles of the moon to remind he to send flowers.” The last words came out as a whisper, a deep breath before sleep dropped over her.

I covered her with a blanket and headed back into the sofa area. A half bottle of scotch sat on the table. Kicking off my shoes I unscrewed the cap and took a swig. A death and resurrection all in one night. Talk about emotional chaos. Not knowing what would come next I sat on the sofa and planned to empty the bottle.

The rose smell came from Bela. Had it really been Bela who controlled Steven all along? I guess I’d never know, but the evidence remained, and in a way made sense. I watched the sky move through the colours of creation, the coming of new life with the morning.

I drank from the bottle, just like my mother. In my escape from her I had become like her. What did she see in life? What kind of pain drove her into the abyss? Wiping my eyes I found I missed her, wished I’d had the chance to tell he how much I loved her. Another swig, another belch, another memory. She died, but the feelings I had for her as a child had died long before. I wanted so much for her to love me, to accept me as her child.

I looked at the near-empty bottle. This is what she saw. A life in ruin, a blur of thick glassy vision, distorted emotions. I tilted my heard back, closed my eyes. I let the loneliness of the past catch up with the present. Now would be a good time to die.

“Diana,” the voice touched me like a feather. “Diana, wake up.”

I opened my eyes to see Marie sitting on the floor by my head. She still looked grey. I tried to sit. My head throbbed. I let it rest back on the cushion.

“What time is it?”

“Eight a.m. You’ve slept more than sixteen hours.” She looked a little sad, bur I suppose that can expected when you’ve died for the second time. “You aren’t safe.”

“Thanks,” I said, again trying and this time managing to sit. My head thrummed like a bass guitar. “Any other good morning gems to share?” I sounded curt. She didn’t deserve that. “Sorry.”

She stood and waited for me to struggle to my feet. I didn’t feel too good, which was odd, as I never suffered real hangovers. Neither did my mother come to think of it. If I’d felt better, that might have bothered me.

“There is only one way to save you, Diana.”

“Hide me in a thick cell?”

“Come with me.” She led me to Sarina’s bedroom, she still slept, curled into the blanket like a child. Marie sat on the bed and gently shook Sarina’s shoulder. She opened her eyes, saw Marie and smiled.

“How do you feel? she asked.

“A lot better thanks to you.” She took one of Sarina’s hands. “You can’t wait any longer, Sarina, if he comes he will take her and the horse. You will lose both.”

“I know.”

Marie looked at me. Sarina sheepishly offered her own gaze. I think I knew what they were considering; was I ready? Did I want what they were about to offer? I’d seen enough to offer me two choices, and one of those was death.

“It will hurt,” Sarina said.

“What makes you think I want to?”

“You don’t want to die. And I want you beside me, Diana. Please be with me.”

I still didn’t know. I wanted to be with her. I couldn’t see the future without her, but eternity?

Marie stood, hugged me then left the room. This was between me and Sarina. So much had happened between us. We studied each other for a long time, neither of us wanting to speak first, say what had to be said.

“How will I change?”

“For a start you won’t be an alcoholic anymore.” She laughed, a pleasant sound considering the moment. “Your body will metabolize it too fast to affect you in the same way it does now.” She sat up in bed. “You will be with me forever if you choose.”

“Anything else?” I liked drinking.

“More than I could possibly explain in the next few minutes. Bela is close, and The Dark One will make his move. We can’t stay in the apartment indefinitely. No food.” Her face hardened, lips thinned. “Most of the changes are best learned through time.” She wriggled her shoulders, getting kinks out of her muscles. “It is up you, Diana. What do you want?”

That was the question she needed an answer for. Did I love her? Did I want to spend eternity with her? Again I didn’t know. Was this how it felt when some one asked you to marry them? No wonder many couples don’t make it to the altar.

“How much hurt?” I asked.

“A lot.” She patted the bed beside her, an offer to sit. “You might even die. Many conversions do.”

“Choices?” I sat.

“You know the choices.”

Death or possible death. I think I wanted to. “What do I do?”

She eased me down onto the bed, made me comfortable on my back, removing the pillow so my neck was straight. Sarina held my right hand, gently stroking the inside of my wrist. I could see she had trouble taking this step.

“This time there will be no euphoria, I will use more than just a touch of my essence, and my invasion of you will bring pain beyond belief.”

“It’s okay. I want to.” I said it, but I still didn’t know. Not really. I could have done with a drink to help me think, decide.

“There’s so much I want to say to you. If, if...”

“I love you, Sarina.” I meant it, believed it. She relaxed a little and gave my hand a three-pump squeeze. “I think I have since soon after we met, but I wanted to be sure.”

“I’ll stay beside you the whole time,” she said, pushing hair from my face. “You aren’t alone, remember that. You aren’t alone.” She lowered her head, eyes on mine, teeth ready to bite. “I love you, Diana.” She bit.

I screamed.

* * *

I stood on the beach watching the waves, feeling the breeze in my face.

Six days I spent in and out of consciousness, six days of pain and loss, incredible loneliness. I kept remembering Sarina’s promise, yet I couldn’t tell if she held to it. At least she was there when I opened my eyes and managed to keep them open. I looked to where I thought a scar would be and saw my smooth-skinned wrist. I could smell me, the sweet stink of sweat, and something else I didn’t want to think about.

Sarina helped me shower, washed my hair and dried me off. All the time she kept me away from the mirror. I wanted to see.

“You are different,” she said, readying me for the first look. “I guided you to this.”

Sucking in a deep breath, enjoying the taste of the air, I looked into the mirror. The woman who looked back was me at twenty-five, a better-looking twenty-five. The mole on my shoulder was gone, the lines around my mouth and eyes, even the appendix scar from when I was a child. I started to cry. Sarina embraced me, held me close. I looked beautiful. So beautiful.

I let the waves wash over my feet, the sand tickling, settling between my toes. I had not only survived the conversion, I had also became untouchable to The Dark One. I did wonder what Bela would say. I liked to think he would be pleased, happy I’d decided to stay with Sarina.

I heard Sarina coming down the beach from behind. Hearing also improved, so did eyesight smell and taste. My senses were so alive. I felt overwhelmed the first time I’d ventured outside. She handed me a bottle of water and my morning pills. I still had to take the medication, but over time the need would reduce; not entirely, as even Uttukes suffer from depression. The sadness of loss over time. I took the pills and sipped water, keeping my eyes on the horizon. A tanker sailing from Port Stanvack, a black smudge against the sky, headed out to deep water.

“Bela did what he promised,” she said, handing me a newspaper.

The paper showed the arrest of Samantha, hands cuffed behind, hair a wild mess, mouth open, screaming at the camera. Uri had got his justice. I handed the paper back with the feeling of relief and sadness.

“Will we see him again?”

“Often,” she said. “I don’t think he’ll contact us though. He got what he wanted, no reason to talk to you anymore.”

I felt a little sad at the news. In an odd way I liked the old Hollywood actor turned Ta’ibah. He held a dignity about him that belied his purpose.

“Marie has started work on a project for you.” Sarina sounded pleased. “It will make up for the loss of your prominent career.” She touched my shoulder, the my face. Her fingers were cold. “I knew this would happen, Diana, so I planned in advance.”

“Thanks,” I said. We still had some issues to sort out in our relationship, and trust to establish. It would take time, time we had a lot of. The sounds of waves breaking lured me back to the sea, away from the immediate. Sarina and I would talk more later, for now all I wanted was the peace of mind I felt to continue, to continue for a long, long time.

Proceed to Chapter 39...

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