Daughter Dusk - The FULL 1st Chapter…

Welcome to the first chapter of TMM #2 — Daughter Dusk!

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CHAPTER ONE

Death howled all around us.

It hurdled through the trees with jaws wide and fangs piercing, claws scoring the earth as it slashed toward its prey. The stench of it was madness. Every strand of black saliva dribbling between its fangs sharpened the air, its biting scent gnawing my senses.

Worse than the smell were the screams of the innocents clinging to me for life as we fled from Death. Hearts drummed against me, their blood flowing fast inside them, and the vibrations mingled with the sound of my own life fluid throbbing in my ears.

The little ones pleaded with me to go faster!

Faster!

Before Death ensnared us in its many talons, talons it would use to tear irreparable gashes through our flesh, so the blood inside us poured hot and thick, and—

Twilight…

I turned and saw Death launch itself at us. Its gaping mouth with rows of curved teeth stretched into an open grin as its forepaws sliced forward. Death's claws pinpointed on us, and its body sailed through the wind. I forced myself to twist away just before the inevitable impact.

The children screamed.

My soul did, as well, understanding the narrow brush with Death we had just encountered and the grim knowledge that it was directly behind us—

Twilight!

Golden magic burned the air. I smelled charred flesh as it made contact with my assailant, and I witnessed the feverish gleam in the blonde woman's eyes as she wielded the light power against shadowy Death. My muscles locked into place at the sight, and my surroundings melted into the past.

Death's wrenching scream contorted into a wail from the Dark Days, and in Death's place were eyes.

Black, stark, and depthless, void of humanity.

A frigid finger scraped my soul as those eyes never left me. A man's stern lips withered into his eternal scream, and he began to die anew. The falling flesh. The melting eyes.

His cry for a god who had forever forsaken him…

"Twilight!"

Cobi hovered over me with his hand on my wrist and a wild look brightening his blue gaze. His mouth drooped with concern. "Twilight," he whispered, "You were… your magic… look."

I looked. My trembling hands, the palms pink and raw from reignited scar wounds, glowed faintly purple beneath the skin. I glanced at my bed and saw that I had singed it. Cobi must have been the one to extinguish the flames while I wrestled with my… remembrances.

"Another nightmare?" He asked.

He perched on the edge of my bed and smiled tentatively at me, trying to reassure me I was well, even though I knew that I scared him. I frightened everyone who had escaped with me from my "family" of shape-shifting cannibalistic sorcerers who called themselves Shadows. It was impossible to enjoy gentle sleep when visions of violence danced in your head.

"Yes." I sighed. "The dreams are worsening. I don't know if I'm capable of progression, Cobi. I mean, look at me."

Cobi frowned and drank me in, noting my sunken-eyed, sleep-deprived visage and my matted tangles of dark hair.

He shrugged. "All I see is a nice girl with a crooked nose. The rest looks good to me."

I rolled my eyes. He knew, as all of them did, that I was anything but nice. The Shadows had ensured that.

"Okay, Cobi. You should probably go back to your room. I don't want to wake the kids. And since they saved our lives, I would prefer not to anger Il and Norva. I'll be fine… at some point."

Cobi was not convinced. Neither was I.

But he nodded, wished me better dreams, and returned to his bedroom, where his memories would only be spotted with gore. Mine were drowning in it, and the crushing realization that much of the death I had witnessed was my own design.

I sighed the kind of sigh that scooped into my soul and dropped back against my pillow, gazing up at the ceiling of the inn we had all taken respite in for the night. We were still long miles away from our destination in Syndbur, capital of the wintry Silver, where our Akristuran escorts Il and Norva had promised to take us, but at least the worst appeared to have been left behind us.

In broken pieces, I remembered our flight two days ago from the society of the Sharavaks. I had to wonder if Solshek was still alive. Had he been torn apart by Sharavos? Or worse, sentenced to a gruesome demise by my father, Damion, who had of late inherited the sovereign position of authority over the dark magic abusers?

I ran my fingers over my veins.

Blood. So much blood had stained the streets of my hometown, Orsh, painting the buildings in the fluid as it fled from severed limbs and heads divorced from their bodies…

Screams. There'd been too many. Innocent people had perished at my will.

Because of me.

My fault entirely.

How could I do such things? And to enjoy them as if savoring a piece of candy?

I wept. I buried my anguish into my pillow, allowing the hot tears to engulf me in their tidal wave and let the guilt consume me. I was a destroyer of innocence. In taking others' lives, I had ruined my own, and now I was trapped with this weight sinking my heart down into my toes.

I wished I could never breathe again. That I could unwind time and unwrite my brutal history, erase myself entirely from existence so the dead would still live and I would never have this cold, ugly tarnish marking my heart.

It was not remorse in the completest sense, because coupled with the grief was a distinct vat of anger boiling below the surface. Rage and conflicting thoughts clashed in my head and heart.

What was right? Wrong? Any of it?

You monster, I thought to myself. You are no girl; you are unforgivable. Inhuman.

But the little girl in me, who had yet to grow up and become calloused and tired of living, begged, No, please, no! Can't I try again? I don't want to be a monster! I don't desire any more screaming. I know the good is still within me!

The Sharavak in me sneered at this.

Fool. You commit abominable acts most adults have never dreamed of, yet you are stupid like a child. Naive, wasteful fool! End yourself already! Do this world one favor…

And I did try. If Cobi had not knocked me unconscious, I would have burned myself to death with my magic. I deserved that, at the very least. I deserved so much more than a quick flight from the tangible realm into nothingness.

Afterward, of course, the Akristurans gave me their hope speech. Though their intentions were pure, Il and Norva's words rang hollow in my heart. Norva assured me it was because I wasn't ready to hear them yet, but I knew I was simply beyond redemption.

No one, not even the supposedly merciful Akristura they worshiped, could ever look favorably upon me after what I had done.

***

"Twilight. It's time to go, love."

I roused from a gripping sleep, blinking my eyes open to the female Akristuran, Norva. She stood beside me in her white robes with the gold spiral symbol and its seven arrows painted on the front.

I slithered out from my sheets and began gathering up the few items I had been given by the Akristurans. Il, the man, had provided me with a worn leather satchel that doubled as a waterskin, and Norva's donation of a jeweled hair brush was her silent message to me that I would function better with my curls under control.

Norva watched me with her lips hugging each other too tightly as she took me in. With the whites of my eyes looking like poorly glazed pottery and strands of my hair strangling each other in a never-ending feud, I was probably a sight to behold.

My eyes alone were spectacles. Their blooming black color burned hot as Void fire and punctured cold as an ice pick, depending on my mood. Suspended like celestial bodies within the depthless black space of my irises were little sprinkles of silver, a welcome pop of brightness amidst the swallowing shadows that surrounded them.

Perhaps their most intriguing element was the single violet ring that encircled each pupil. They bled forth a promise with their soothing purple color; there was more to existence than existing. I had a purpose beyond my current situation and a life worth living on the other side of my self-loathing and crippling mistakes.

Rather, crippling choices.

Something else was there, too. Married to this desire to know myself was a desire to know… something else. What it was, I could not define. It dwelled above, beyond, and forever out of my reach. I liked to think I would find it in Syndbur, the capital of the Silver region where my mother had grown up, but I doubted I would.

This "something" was a something out of reach. It had no form, no definitive existence. It beckoned to me at the twilight when darkness warred with the day and scattered the colors of their mingled blood across the atmosphere: orange, violet, pink, yellow, and depthless blue.

It tugged on the string of my spirit at the blackest plunges of night when I viewed the stars overhead pulsing silently with promise. With signs and wonders I was yet unaware of.

With purpose. The sky seemed to say that I, Twilight Urik, had a purpose.

But I would not find it where I was, and my eyes, which were once a source of pride and now a prodding of shame, could not be seen by normal humans. As if she read my thoughts, Norva set my disguise item at the foot of my bed and left the room.

After placating my hair's temper tantrum with Norva's brush, I swept the flag of defiant black waves behind me and clumsily pinned it up in a bun. I ached, remembering that this hair was distinctly my mother Aubri's. When my magic had first begun budding, she had visited me in my sleep, a token of the realm of the dead. Since my power's progression, though, I had lost sight of her. Only the white stone necklace nestled above my collarbone remained to remind me I had ever had a mother at all.

I slipped back into my traveling clothes, a spare pair of plain, cream-colored robes from Norva, and wondered if I would ever see Aubri again. Perhaps I wouldn't.

Those thoughts could wait, though. I needed to focus on my un-Twilight-ing. The final touch was a pair of color contacts for my eyes. The plain dark brown masked my more eccentric features, so I appeared like any ordinary girl.

After placing the things on my eyeballs, I beheld myself in the mirror. With a simple set of robes, regular mud-splotch irises, and my hair a beast of the past hidden under my hood, I was a new person. My skin, though unnaturally unpigmented, would not be an issue for others to see since my face and the rest of my body were concealed by cloth, and my hands were mercifully gloved. No zyz, or non-magical person, would think much of me now.

I gave my cozy space with its rustic furnishings a final long glance, then stepped out of my room into the upstairs hallway. I was immediately greeted with the scent of sizzling meat. The innkeepers below were cooking breakfast. My mind glimmered with flashes of human blood and the sparkling flavor of their saas, or spiritual residue, as the aroma wreathed around me.

I was hungry again for a moment, itching to scratch someone's throat and feed on their insides…

"Twilight?"

I startled, realizing the sudden warmth in my hand was magic, and let it die down into my skin as Il approached. He gave me a knowing look.

"What were you thinking about?" He asked.

Norva appeared from her bedroom behind him. "Ready, girl?"

I nodded. Il repeated his question, and I averted my gaze. I didn't want him to read the hunger there, blushing brightly in my eyes like a hastily lit candle.

"Twilight," he prompted.

I choked on the dark feeling as it strangled me in the back of my throat. Something about being around the Akristurans resurrected the long-dead whispers of "the voice" that had once told me what was right and wrong. Father Sein and the God of Myrk had denied the validity of this voice, claiming its intent was backward and even evil.

Now who was the evil one? It had never been the voice; it was me, and I loathed the Akristurans for reminding me of it. I wanted to rage about it and scream to the high heavens, but instead, I settled for, "Can I please just not talk about it?"

I kept my eyes centered on the floor as though the scuffed slabs of wood could absorb my wicked dreams, Il's uncomfortable questions, and perhaps me. Il was about to tell my feelings off when my stepmother Marcia emerged from her room with my siblings.

My stepmother looked dazed and disheveled as my seven-year-old brother Josha held her arm. My eleven-year-old sister Aullie shot me an unsettled look, hovering behind Marcia and a curtain of neck-length red-gold hair as she stepped out.

Il and Norva greeted them. Marcia returned the greeting with lackluster enthusiasm before she looked back at me. I didn't know what to say or even to think. How did anyone perceive me anymore?

Her eyes were still somewhat caustic, but they were warmer than I'd ever seen when looking at me.

"I didn't get a chance to properly thank you the other night," she told me, "For keeping my babies safe during our departure once those creatures started chasing us. So thank you, Twilight."

Yes, the departure, the bulk of the previous night's terrifying dreams.

Marcia's tone was genuine, but it came out a bit forced. Regardless, I appreciated the gesture.

"Of course, you're welcome. After all," I said, stooping to my brother's eye level, "I love them just as much as you do."

Marcia shook her head. "I wouldn't go that far; I am their mother. But I know you care. You risked your life to save theirs when we escaped."

Indeed, I had, and if not for Norva's healing, I would have likely bled to death from the slash wounds I'd amassed. I hated to feel indebted to her, but I supposed there was no alternative. It had been that or bleed to death.

I smiled at Josha and ruffled his soft brown hair as I put these bloody thoughts behind me. Sometimes, at the right angle or with a certain facial expression, he looked very much like my father. Our father, unfortunately. It was the way his lips tucked themselves away when he smiled, giving him an irresistible, almost smirk-like grin that would be devastating when he was older.

On the bright side, Josha acted nothing like Damion. His sweetness was genuine, and his heart unpolluted. I had failed him in the past months and could never do so again. My brother would have to be preserved and loved more fiercely than ever.

"Twi," Josha cried, throwing himself into my arms. "I missed you, seester!"

Josh and I liked to say words incorrectly sometimes for fun, and instead of calling me sister, he changed it to "seester" because it made him laugh. In return, I would call him "Little Broth," which progressed into a series of bizarre nicknames like "Soup Boy," "Noodleson," and so on. I had forgotten the comforting normalcy of returning to such phrases. Tears pricked my eyes at hearing them again and knowing how deeply children could love, even when wronged.

"Twi, you gotta look at what I found!" Josha exclaimed. He beamed at me as he gently removed something from his pocket and held it out for me to see.

In his hand rested a massive golden-white spider. I heard Il and Norva gasp, Aullie squeal, and Marcia cry, "Oh, Josha, what in the name of all things sacred are you doing with that?"

Upon seeing the spider, I was reminded of the enormous mutated ones I had encountered living with the Sharavaks. The spirnyx was a ferocious pest that lurked in the tunnels running beneath the compound, and Solshek had protected me from one once…

"Twi?" Josha prompted, his excitement dulling into sadness at my hesitation.

When I saw his drooping face, I quickly fussed lovingly over the arachnid and asked him where he'd found it.

"From the depths of the Abyss!" Marcia yelled. "Get it away from me, Josh! Right now!"

Josha's face started to cave into a whimper. I tugged my brother down the hall and away from the commotion to reassure him.

"Hey," I said, smiling at him as I guided the spider onto my fingertips. The sluggish creature must have liked Josh because it didn't want to leave his hand. "Look," I said, nudging the spider forward, "There's nothing wrong with liking spiders. Some of them are gross—even I'm not a fan of them all—but as long as you learn to keep them away from other people, you can enjoy them. And don't feel bad about it," I told him, making an exaggeratedly serious face.

Josha giggled. In that giggle, I felt another tug on my humanity.

"I'm not kidding with you, young man!" I said. I frowned even more deeply. Josha laughed harder. "Liking spiders is seriously cool business. You are a fan of one of the world's most interesting creatures. That is no laughing matter. Okay?"

"I second that," spoke a familiar voice as the door behind Josha opened.

Out stepped Cobi, grinning broadly, into the hallway. No darkness or hints of last night lingered on his face.

"Wow," he said when he beheld the spider in my hand. "Nice monster. Thought you had enough with monsters, though? Is it your pet?"

I told him it was Josha's discovery, and Josha informed him, much to my stepmother's distress, that he had found it behind the headboard of her bed.

"Oh, goodness," she chanted, "I am so done here. I'll take the Shadow things over that any day."

Il frowned. "Careful what you say, lady. Now that everyone's here, are we ready to leave? We should reach Syndbur by sundown if we clock this right."

Everyone expressed their approval.

"Excellent," said Norva. "Then we leave now."

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