Shadows
The silence was worse than either the growls or the chase. As if the Duskwraiths were waiting for and watching.
He edged out ahead of her, every fiber of his body tense with tension.
For a fleeting instant, his shadowed armor caught the faint sheen of her light, turning him into the very black they were trying to avoid."Kieran," Lyra whispered, her throat constricted. "Do you feel that?"
He jerked back at her, jaws clapping together. "They're moving us in," he said behind his teeth.
Her heart sank flat out.
"I don't know," he admitted. His voice loosened with his observation, but whatever happens, stay close to me. I will not let you be taken.
Hardly, Lyra choked, her voice tensing with the protectiveness.
Saying a silent yes to that, she forced herself to set aside the terror that was about to engulf her.The crack of a branch breaking left froze them in place.
Kieran's hand grasped the sword's hilt, and Lyra's light leapt brighter reflexively, casting macabre shadows across the trees.
Glimmering eyes flickered first, then second, and last. Duskwraiths of the evening.
Their shadowy forms moved closer and drew bitterness; their growls came vibrating about.
"Run," Kieran said strongly.
He marched forward, hacking at the leading Duskwraith, while his sword sliced through the leading Duskwraith before he could protest the action.
Passing her led more than he did, in unnatural strides that were lightning fast, as black fog spurted from a creature.
Lyra hesitated. Her heart revolted at its instincts, and though Kieran's voice screamed through the fright, every inch of her howled to linger and fight at his side.
"Lyra, run!" he bellowed hopelessly.
She was running, turning, her feet pounding on the forest floor. Her emotions flew out of control, the trees whizzing by, her soft magic spiking jaggedly.
She trusted him, though she despised the idea of leaving him behind. He would find her again; he always did. Sorry.
Lyra tripped, catching herself against a tree, the ground sloping sharply down.
She glanced back. Kieran wasn't there.
She tried to think of her breathing in short, wild jabs.
Could she not run for her life? There had to be some point, some destination, if the Duskwraiths were driving them.
She turned around; her light flared brighter; something little caught her eye. Shadows taunted her and danced at the edge of her sight.
Her hands were shaking as she gripped the feeble magic that kept the darkness at bay, and her back pressed against the tree.
"Keeper," said a low, serpent voice.
The heart of Lyra stopped. Everywhere at once, the voice seemed to be piercing her brain like venom.
It laughed and spoke on
"Your light cannot save you."
Do you think he can protect himself? Do you think he can protect himself?
With fists clenched, she would make her magic brighter. "Show yourself!" she screamed, the voice shaking in defiance.
Shadows merged to form a darkly veiled figure. Though its face was obscured, the evil seeping from its very pores told all. Absolute.
"You are powerless."
"Unworthy of the Keeper's power."
As it has done to others before you, this will consume you.
Lyra's chest heaved with rage tempered by fear.
Though her hands shook, she said, "I fear not you."
The picture laughed; the sound was harsh and cavernous. "Do that! Please do that!" It moved forward, and Lyra's magic trembled. Do you know even the truth concerning your precious warrior? The darkness that he locks within himself!.
The image grinned its head. Ask him about the evening he first knew the darkness. Ask him whom he could not save.
The shape dispersed in smoke before Lyra could answer and merge into darkness.
"Kieran"
Her feeble magic lit the black mist that flowed behind the dead Duskwraiths, so Lyra staggered forward, singing through the woods.
"Kieran, where can you be?"
Panic squeezed her chest; the words of the dark figure resonated within her head. Even though she needed to find him, she didn't know what to trust.
Before her was a noise that made her heart leap, and she ran toward it. She broke through the brush and found Kieran kneeling on the ground with his sword stuck in the ground next to him.
Tearing up, she fell alongside him and called out, Kieran!
His head thrown back, face pale and smeared with blood. Looking into her, relief danced for a moment in his black eyes before being crowded out by something else, something to do with guilt.
"Lyra," he said, and his voice was echo-practic. Are you hurt?
Her hands trembled as she reached to touch him; she shook her head. I'm fine, but yours?
"I'm fine," he cut in abruptly; his voice was stronger than she had expected. It's not my blood.
She raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but before she could ask him another question, he reached out to caress her face with fingers smeared with gore.
He spoke gently now, his eyes raking over hers: "I said run! Coming back was something you should not have done."
She replied, through tears and with a glimmer in her eyes, "I couldn't leave you."
He pulled her into a brusque embrace, his arms wrapping tightly around her.
She hesitated for a moment before she swooned into him, fingers gripping his covering.
His voice was filled with relief and something more as he mumbled, "You're safe. Most importantly, that's it!.
She drew her head back far enough to meet his eyes; her pulse was racing. "And then that number said something about you.
Your old life. Is that right?
Kieran's face darkened, his eyes dropping to the ground.
He hesitated, the weight of his secrets piling on him, and said, "Lyra, I play."
"Please," she whispered. "Tell me; I have to know."
The sounds of heavy, slow footsteps exploded from the forest before he could answer. Kieran tensed and drew his sword as Lyra's light flared.
From the dark crept a group of figures with their bright little guns. They were not Duskwraiths. There were people who were human.
"Stand down, Keeper," the leader said coolly and authoritatively. "You're riding with us."
Kieran stood, raising his blade before Lyra. "You'll have to come to me if you want her."
The leader's smile made me think of set action that can be taken care of.
The tension snapped like a bowstring, and the forest erupted into chaos once more.