The Journey
Their footsteps quiet on the gentle soil under them, Lyra and Kieran walked in the darkness.
The world seemed suffocating, like the air was thick with the misery of his conscious regret and her quiet anxiety.
He stared at Lyra, his face furrowed with worry. Though the ferocity of the previous fight had drained him and Lyra, it was the gaze in her eyes. A haunted gaze that most disturbed him.
"You are silent," he said, quiet but probing. "Assume me, Lyra. What is happening in your head?
Lyra's lips curved in a taut line. She had always been a solitary shouldered of loads, but the reality of their path—the great danger, the impossible decisions—was becoming unbearable.
Her voice shaking with emotion, she admitted, "I keep thinking about the Harbingers." "What if they are right? Can I not hold the light?"
She stared fixedly at him, and he said, his voice searing, "Don't hesitate yourself."
"You have already done the impossible. Lyra, you are stronger than you think you are. I saw it with my own eyes.
His words were a twist to her gut. Theirs had become a relationship so tight, so explicit. She longed to believe him, to rely on her own strength, but she felt the pressure increasing and feared one wrong step could lead to catastrophe.
"I'm not the woman I thought I was," she breathed, her voice fragile and full. "I don't know what is real anymore."
Kieran drew closer still, his fingers caressing around the curve of her cheek. "You are real, Lyra," he breathed.
"Everything you've become, all you have withstood it brings you to this place. And I won't let you see it by yourself."
A definite undercurrent of stress characterized the days that followed. Every footfall they moved deeper into the forest drew them closer to the unfamiliar, to the center of the blackness that endangered their world.
Lyra was gaining more ability, but so was the fear eating her away. It all seemed too much: the whispers of the Harbingers, the enigmatic forecast, and the ever-present darkness.
Lyra could not sleep one night; they set up close to the remains of an old watchtower. Long, bent shadows fell on the stone walls in the moonlight, and a peculiar feeling made her want to expose the facts buried under the ruins.
Getting to her feet before Kirran could protest, she mumbled, "I must go.".
"Lyra, no," he said, his voice heavy with worry as he took her wrist. "Going by yourself you will not."
Moving forward, she was both determined and distraught. "I have to. This is no longer just about us, Kieran. It's far greater than that.
He let her go, knowing she was right, but still unable to let her alone to face what lay ahead.
"I will travel with you."
The stones cracked beneath their footsteps, echoing the sound throughout the ruins. There was an almost electric hum of ancient power, and when they walked under an archway, a searing cold rushed across the air.
Lyra halted, catching her breath as she reached out to stretch across the stone, tracing the chill touch of some ancient tablet glowing dully beneath her fingers.
And then, with a shock beneath their feet, the earth heaved and swayed. The whole watchtower seemed to groan, like one roused from deep sleep. Deep and resonant, a voice echoed in the air all about them.
"Lyra, the Keeper, you are the key."
Lyra's heart pounded in her breast; she felt Kieran's hand contracted around hers. "What is this?" she whispered, discomfited.
"Kieran muttered somewhat mutely and tightly," said the prophecy. "This is true."
Before Lyra could speak, the air around them was charged with a wave of dark energy. A silhouette, covered in black, emerged from the shadows. The face was hidden behind a mask of changing darkness.
The form moved forward, cold and oppressive.
"You have come far, Keeper," it said, its voice a strange mixture of bitterness and sorrow.
"But you can't hide from what's going to get you." The darkness will consume you, just like it consumed him.
Lyra's stomach was a tangle of knots. "What do you offer?" She asked coolly, though her tension was climbing.
The figure raised his hands, the darkness dancing around them like dark energy bursts.
"The one you hate. He's not what he seems."
The black curse is upon him. And soon he will be consumed.
Kieran's face went ashy, his grip on his sword tighter. "Let's go," he growled, stepping forward. "She'll be protected by me."
I'll fight for her. You'll not have her.'"
The laughter of the man echoed low and contemptuous over the ruins. "You think you can rescue her, Kieran? Any of you? You're long dead."
Lyra found she was suffering the onset of an attack of dizziness, air thickening and heavy with it. She clasped Kieran on the arm to keep from falling.
"Hear it not," she breathed, her tension-tautened voice sharp against his ear. "Together we have come.
And together will we end."
The figure's eyes sparkled with a false light. Then, before their gaze, it faded into the night. "We shall see," it said.
They returned back to camp silently the following day with the weight of revelation lying heavy on their heads and with Lyra's feeling that tension was slowly rising some hidden wall between them, which neither knew to topple down.
Always watchful, Kieran stayed his distance; his mind plainly astray. Knowing he was struggling with the consequences of the figure's statement and the notion that the darkness might be within him, the same darkness they had been fighting against for so long, Lyra.
"Kieran," she said, her voice soft, "we need to discuss last evening's events.
His jaw locked tight; he would not look up. He said, his voice low, "There is nothing to discuss, Lyra. You heard what it said. The darkness is within me. It's been there all along.
Not, she added stoutly. You're not the darkness, Kieran. You're the one who battles it. You have guarded me every trajectory.
He took a step back from her, grumbling, "I have failed once. If I cannot even protect myself, how am I to guard you from afar?
Lyra took a step forward and lightly touched her hand to his arm. "Quietly she said, 'You have always failed me.'"' "We are in this together, and we usually will be.".
Kieran didn't pause for a second; his back was stiff because of the exertion of his interior battle. He slowly twisted to look at her next. His blazing eyes were welling with anguish and something even more: hope.
"If need be, I will go to extreme measures to protect you, Lyra, no matter what it may cost me.".
She rose to her feet; she smoothed a tear from his cheek as her heart went out to him. "Kieran, you don't have to do it all by yourself. Not now."
He nodded, his head cocked.
The ground beneath them suddenly lurched as they packed their belongings and prepared to leave, a powerful tremor that sent the two of them stumbling.
Shadows came from the trees to twist and curl like living things.
Lyra's heart sprang into her throat. "Kieran, what is this?"
"Run!" Kieran yelled, taking her hand and tugging her toward the protection of the trees.
Too little, though.
Out of the whirling shadows stepped a tall, threatening figure with a face hidden under a black hood. Like a curtain, the shadows split to show the one thing Lyra had most dreaded.
There was something odd in the light coming from her eyes, and she curled her lips into a vicious grin. "Brother," she murmured softly. It is time to return home.
Lyra's blood turned cold, and Kieran's handgrip tightened as he murmured, "No, not her." With this statement. Not now.
It was already too late. The fight had already started.